Not a House Elf
by LeanaM
Summary: Five years after the end of the War, Hermione runs into Draco Malfoy in Muggle London. It doesn't take long before she finds a new cause to fight for, despite all the obstacles. Not entirely DH-compliant. Definitely EWE. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**AN : in response to a prompt by ****riddlesgurlforever on tumblr for the #dhrfavorites prompt exchange of January 2016.** **This was written really quickly so if you find any typos, PM me.** **  
** **Prompt: _Five years after the 2nd Wizarding War, Hermione runs into Draco in muggle London. He expects her to ignore him like the rest of the wizarding world or even say some snide comment as he has lost everything but she takes him by surprise hugging him, and complaining how injust the Ministry was sending him to Azkaban even after he defected. He pushes her away but maybe she finds him again trashed at a pub, then takes him home? It becomes her mission to help Draco even though all Draco allegedly wants is to be left alone. Maybe she wants to even help him reclaim the Manor and his lost legacy._**

 **Cover designed by the talented Ariel Riddle (whose stories you should go read right after this one)  
**

* * *

"Draco Malfoy?"

Draco closed his eyes for just a moment, taking a fortifying breath before turning his head towards her. Even if he hadn't seen her approach from afar, he would have known that voice.

"Granger," he said, with a slight nod. Then he turned towards the window again, staring at the pastries on the counter. They had strawberry tartlets. He missed strawberries. His eyes followed hungrily while the lady behind the counter placed a strawberry tartlet on a plate and handed it to a customer with a kind smile. And he waited. He'd hoped she wouldn't notice him, or if she did, that she'd ignore him. So now he waited for the inevitable insults and slurs, the taunting laugh of revenge for years of being bullied, the glee with which she could remind him of all he had lost.

Instead, he suddenly felt two strong arms wrap around him and his mouth and nose were assaulted by a mass of unruly brown curls.

"Oh Draco, I can't believe I found you. You disappeared so quickly after being released, I wanted to… It doesn't matter. I'm glad you're free now. I still don't understand why the Wizengamot was so severe on you, it wasn't justice, just petty revenge, and I…"

Draco spluttered, trying to get the hair out of his mouth and pushed her away.

"You're babbling, Granger, but what else is new," he sneered, turning away from her. He felt pressure building in his chest and started having trouble breathing. He wanted to get away from her, he _needed_ to get away from her.

She placed a hand on his arm to stop him, though, and when he looked at her over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question, she gestured at the cafe he'd been staring at.

"Let me buy you a drink, catch up," she said, smiling a little uncertainly.

He saw the compassion in her eyes, and it stung, more than any insults ever could have.

"I don't need your charity, Granger, I'm not a bloody House Elf," he snapped, pulling his arm free and walking off quickly, hoping to disappear in the crowd.

He didn't see the disappointment on her face.

* * *

"I saw Malfoy today," Hermione said while putting the mashed potatoes on the table. Harry stiffened and Ron glared at the food.

"Where'd you run into that Ferret? Didn't think he'd shown his face anywhere since leaving Azkaban. Not like anyone would want to see it."

"Oh, Ron, be nice. I was in Muggle London, near Regent Street. He looked awful, all thin and gaunt. I tried to talk to him but… well, he just walked away."

"Who cares about that git, bloody Death Eater scum," Ron muttered, spooning the potatoes on his plate with unnecessary force. He didn't notice the tiny splatters on his shirt, despite Hermione's disapproving stare.

"He didn't deserve four years of Azkaban, Ron, no matter how much of a git he was. They took away his house, his money, even his wand. That's a bit harsh for someone who just made the wrong choices when he was a boy, even if he hadn't defected right at the end," Harry said, though he didn't completely disagree with Ron.

Hermione beamed at him. "That's what I was trying to tell him. I wanted to talk to him after he was set free, but I couldn't find him. I want to appeal the Wizengamot and have part of his sentence overturned. I mean, he lied to his father about us, which saved our lives. I know we testified but somehow it didn't seem enough at the time. I want to try again but I can't very well do that without his consent, can I?"

"Oh, Hermione, really? You're taking up the Ferret's cause now? Why don't you keep focusing on House Elves or something?"

"If we only want justice for the people we like, how does that make us any better than Voldemort and his Death Eaters?" Hermione snapped at Ron.

He glared at her but didn't respond. After a long, tense silence, Harry started talking about his day at the Auror office, and the topic of Malfoy wasn't broached again.

* * *

"And then he shoots himself in the foot with a cutting hex!"

Ron roared with laughter, clinging to Hermione in an effort not to fall off his chair. Harry grinned at his two best friends, as he recounted the capture of one of the most idiotic criminals he'd ever encountered. Of course, the story was even more hilarious after a couple of pints and whiskeys.

Nobody looked twice at them in the Muggle pub they frequented, and it was a welcome change from the never-ending attention the Golden Trio received for every muscle they moved in the Wizarding world. It was the main reason they met here, as Ron didn't ever feel at ease until after the third pint.

Then a cold blast of air struck Harry's back and the laughter froze on Hermione's face. Harry looked over his shoulder, wondering what had captured her attention, and noticed two men stumbling through the door, one more drunk than the other, and the two of them keeping each other upright as well as they could.

"An' annotha thing…" slurred the blond, swaying dangerously on his feet. His black-haired companion sniggered for no good reason and swayed the other way.

"Ish all the Nargles in the place," slurred the blond, looking peeved and glancing around the pub with glazed eyes. "I'm thirshy, Blaise, one more?"

They somehow made it to the counter and convinced the barman to serve them whiskeys.

Harry and Hermione followed their every move, feeling more sober than they had been when they'd arrived in the pub. Ron was still sniggering, oblivious to the scene.

He suddenly seemed to realise his friends were looking elsewhere and he sat up, blinking.

"Whassa ferret doing here?" he asked.

Harry shrugged, and after one last look at Malfoy and Zabini, he turned back to his friends, deciding not to care. Hermione, however, remained focused on Draco Malfoy, her eyes narrowing with every shot he downed.

She didn't hear Harry's response and the ensuing conversation, but when Blaise finally made to leave and Draco started wailing "Noooooo don't leave me, everyone always leaves", she got up and made her way over.

"You go, Zabini, I've got this," she said, nodding at him in simultaneous greeting and dismissal.

"Granger? No, no, no Granger, not you again. 's always you. Go 'way," Draco slurred, trying to walk away but finding it difficult to move his feet now the ground seemed to be moving in all directions. "I wan' annother shot. Whishkey."

"Don't worry, Malfoy. I'll get you another drink, but not here, right? Come along, I know a better place to go," she coaxed, taking an arm and guiding him towards the door. Before they'd reached it, though, Ron yanked her back violently, causing Draco to stumble to the floor. He grumbled something unintelligible, turned on his back and made himself comfortable against the door jamb.

"What, Ron?" Hermione exclaimed, irritated.

"What are you doing with the Ferret?"

"I'm taking him home, he needs a place to sleep it all off. Why?"

"Home? To OUR flat?"

Hermione blinked. "Our flat? What do you mean, our flat? It's my flat, Ron, and we're not together any more, remember. We broke up months ago."

"Weren't you about to get over this silly separation thing? I thought things were going well between us, I thought we'd…" He broke off, not sure how to continue.

"We'd what? Get back together? You thought the break-up was temporary though I told you very clearly I felt nothing more for you than friendship? Ron, it's over between us."

"Well, if you take that Ferret home, it's definitely over between us. Completely over."

"Are you really threatening to throw away our friendship because I want to help someone who has nothing left in the world?"

A groan from near their feet made Hermione realise that Draco was still on the floor while she was wasting time arguing with Ron. They were glaring at each other, but she refused to back down.

"Ron, I never thought our break-up was temporary. I'm sorry you thought otherwise. But no matter what, you have no right to tell me what to do, and if I want to take Malfoy home, I will."

"Go with that Ferret and I'll never speak to you again, Hermione. Is he worth the sacrifice of so many years of friendship? Do you think any of _my_ family will still talk to you if you take that git's side? Have you forgotten what his family did, what his father did to my sister? And what other family do you have left, hmm?"

Harry gasped, outraged.

Hermione slapped Ron across the cheek, and he staggered back, his face transforming from rage in regret.

"Hermione, I…"

Hermione stared at him, her face utterly devoid of any emotion, and Ron couldn't go on. He watched as she turned around and hoisted Malfoy upright. She left the pub without looking back, and they heard the faint pop of Disapparition as the door closed.

"Low blow, mate," Harry said, shaking his head disapprovingly. Then he, too, left the pub and Disapparated.

* * *

The first things Draco Malfoy realised when he woke up, were that his mouth tasted of ashes, his head felt like a troll had bashed it in, and he wasn't on the streets as usual.

He groaned when he tried to open his eyes, the blinding light of the morning sun too bright to contemplate doing that again.

A vial was pushed against his lips.

"Drink."

He knew that voice, but right now he couldn't quite place it, between the pounding headache and the screaming voices that made no sense inside his head.

"It's a hangover potion, Malfoy, not poison. Drink."

The voice sounded irritated and loud over the buzzing in his ears. It took him a moment to understand what, exactly, the voice had said, but then he opened his mouth and a foul-tasting liquid was poured down his throat. He gulped and shuddered, keeping his eyes closed while the voices in his head quieted down and the headache receded.

When he finally felt better, he opened his eyes and sat up, his eyes flitting around the room and landing on a bushy-haired witch he recognised immediately.

"Granger?"

"Good morning, Malfoy. Although it is almost noon. How do you feel?"

He contemplated snapping at her, but somehow couldn't find the energy. His eyes darted around the room again. There was a large fireplace to his left, she was sitting on a low table in front of him, and to his right were two doors.

"Like a banshee yelled in my ear all night," he grumbled, after a long pause. "Where am I?"

Granger smiled that same uncertain smile he'd seen when they ran into each other in front of the cafe, almost a week ago.

"This is my home."

A number of questions raced through Draco's head at that statement, but his face remained impassive while his eyes studied her. She looked back, a little apprehensively. He realised she was waiting for him to snap or sneer, as he had done the last time they'd met, and he couldn't help the wave of fatigue that hit him. He could think of any number of insults to throw at her, but he was too tired to fight now.

"Thank you," he said instead.

She smiled a little wider now, and got up.

"How about breakfast? Or brunch, as it is. I can make French toast and I have some fresh fruit and honey to go with that."

Draco's eyes lit up. Food. Fruit. Strawberries maybe? "That sounds wonderful. Thank you."

"Why don't you take a shower. There are towels and fresh clothes in the bathroom. It'll be ready by the time you get out."

She rounded the sofa on which he'd been lying and he turned around to watch her go into the little kitchen.

"Granger?"

"It's the second door," she said, not looking back.

"Granger, why are you being so nice to me?"

"I'm nice to most people, Malfoy," she said, after a pause.

"Hmpf. I seem to remember you yelling at the Weasel last night, so I beg to differ. Don't lie to me, Granger, I grew up with people who lied as easily as they breathed and you're not even coming close their knees."

Hermione took a deep breath, busying herself with the pan, eggs, milk and bread. Then she turned around and watched as Malfoy stood up.

"Because it wasn't right. What they did to you, it wasn't right."

He bristled. "I'm not some bloody House Elf, Granger, I don't need your pity."

"You're probably the furthest away from a House Elf that anyone or anything can be," she bit out. Then she snorted and shrugged. "It's not pity. You saved my life during the battle, don't think I don't know that. I owe you. So I'll help you. I'll get you your wand, I'll get you your inheritance and I'll make that bloody Wizengamot eat their verdict."

Their eyes locked, and she licked her lips unconsciously.

"If you want me to," she added. "I know I can take them on, Malfoy. I know I can give you your life back. But I won't do it unless you want me to."

He stared at her and the silence stretched between them.

"Your friends won't like it. I can remember that argument from yesterday, Granger. Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to sacrifice your friends? You'd be much better off leaving me alone."

"But _you_ wouldn't be. I think it's worth it."

He sighed, and then the thought of a hot shower and fresh food made him say the words he knew she wanted to hear.

"Then, by all means, Granger, go ahead. It'll be amusing, at least, to see you try."

And with a smirk, he vanished into her bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Chapter 2, a little later than foreseen due to flu. Also, no beta so if you see typos let me know. Thank you for all the reviews and favs!  
**

 **Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR. I'm just borrowing them.**

* * *

"Granger, what is this?"

Hermione looked up from the stove after expertly turning another bread slice in the pan.

Draco Malfoy strutted out of the bathroom, half-naked and waving the shirt at her as if it was the most offensive shirt he'd ever seen.

"A Gryffindor shirt? Don't you see how those colours clash with my complexion? Transfigure it into something less garish than red and yellow. Like green and silver, now those are two colours that go well together." He smiled, smugly holding the shirt quite still now, and looking at her expectantly.

"Get a move on, Granger, before I catch pneumonia."

Hermione blinked, dragging her eyes away from his chest and focusing on the shirt. She tried not to think of how thin he really was. She was sure she could count his ribs easily. Not that she had to, she knew perfectly how many ribs a human had. She swallowed, trying to remember what he'd asked.

"I don't see the problem." The shirt was a little shabby, to be sure, all of Harry's old clothes were. But it was the only thing she'd been able to find that was clean and decent. She had thought he'd be glad to change out of his other clothes after the shower. They still smelled of stale beer and other odours she didn't care to identify.

"It's red and gold, Granger. I wouldn't dress up in Gryffindor colours even if Merlin himself came back and asked me. Now change it. You're a witch, aren't you?" He tossed the shirt at her and she caught it before it landed in the frying pan.

With a deep sigh and a roll of her eyes, she summoned her wand from the table and changed the colours of the shirt to the requested green and silver.

He grabbed it back and quickly pulled it on.

"Better keep an eye on that pan, Granger, it's starting to smell burnt." And with another infuriating smirk, he sat down at her table, eyeing the pile of French toast hungrily.

Hermione turned back to her pan and took a few deep breaths. _I owe him_ , she reminded herself. _He'll be gone soon enough._

"Why don't you set the table, Malfoy, and we'll eat in a moment."

He snorted, but didn't move.

"The plates are in the cupboard over there and the cutlery's here," Hermione continued, pointing as she spoke.

He still didn't move.

She slid the last of the French toast on the pile, charmed to stay warm, and looked up with a smile that quickly faded.

"Still not a house elf, Granger," he smirked. "I don't do housework. Do hurry up with breakfast, though, I'm starving."

Hermione barely managed to hold in a snarl, closing her eyes for just a minute, and then waved her wand around. The plates danced out of the cupboard and onto the table, the cutlery quickly following. She brought the pile of French toast over, a pot of honey and a bowl of freshly cut strawberries, raspberries and blueberries. Draco had filled his plate before she sat down, spooning almost half the fruit over his slices of French toast, drizzling them generously with honey. He demolished the pile with a speed that would have made Ron look like a snail, and refilled his plate before Hermione had finished even half her portion. She noticed, when she took the fruit bowl, that he had somehow expertly taken all the strawberries and raspberries, leaving her with only a handful of blueberries to scatter over her plate. _Bastard._

"You shouldn't eat so quickly, you'll get sick," she said, peevishly.

"Concerned about me, Granger?" He smirked at her and popped another piece of strawberry in his mouth.

"More like I don't feel like cleaning after you throw up. And it would be such a waste of good food if you did that."

He grinned at her as he finished his second helping.

"So, I take it you liked your breakfast." She pointedly looked at his plate with a smug smile, it was so empty it might as well not have been used.

He shrugged. "Maybe a little less heavy on the eggs, next time."

Hermione took a slow breath, her smile replaced by a pout and her fingers itching to hex him. Then she smiled again, deciding to pretend he hadn't rattled her at all, and with a swish of her wand, the dishes flew into the sink and cleaned themselves. Washing the dishes was probably one of the most useful household spells she'd learned. She loved cooking the Muggle way, as it made her feel closer to the mother who might never remember her, but she hated washing the dishes, so it was the perfect compromise between her Muggle heritage and her Magical life.

"So how can I reach you?"

Draco's eyes snapped back at her. "What do you mean?"

Hermione sighed. "Where can I reach you? Are you staying with Blaise? I just want to know, so I can keep you up to date about the developments. I'll start preparing your case, of course, and talk to members of the Wizengamot, and try to find out when I can bring our appeal before them, but I'll need your presence at some point. And I'll have to get you your clothes back, too."

He looked away from her, his smile fading. "Blaise is on the Watchlist. I can't stay with him. He applied for permission, you know, when I was released, but they denied it. We manage to see each other once a month or so, but much more would make life very difficult for him."

Hermione nodded. People on the Watchlist were suspected of Dark sympathies and their activities - especially contact with other suspected Dark wizards - were heavily monitored. They couldn't house Death Eaters, and Draco, whatever else he was or had been, still had the Dark Mark on his arm. She saw he was scratching his left forearm, but he didn't seem to notice.

"So where do you live, then?"

"Here and there. How about I find you, hmm? I know where you live now. I can come back in a week and get an update." He pushed himself away from the table, got up and grabbed his cloak from the couch.

"Well, thanks for breakfast, Granger. Very kind of you. We must do this again some time. Good luck preparing my case, I'm sure you'll do brilliantly."

Hermione was baffled by his sudden departure. "But I may need you sooner. How will I find you? What about your clothes?"

"Keep those ruddy clothes, for Salazar's sake. And I'm sure it'll take longer than a week to get the Wizengamot to set an appeal date, Granger, even for a war heroine like you."

Draco had his hand on the doorknob and almost congratulated himself at getting out of the flat, when her voice stopped him.

"You don't have a home, do you? That's why you're avoiding the question. That's why you're trying to get away. You don't want to admit that you simply don't have a home."

He stiffened. He really wanted to leave now, but his hand refused to turn the handle.

"Is that it? Do you really have no place to go?" Her voice sounded so soft and kind, and only his pride kept him from giving in. He squared his shoulders and opened the door.

"It's none of your business, Granger. I'll be back in a week."

"You don't have to leave."

He'd almost made it out of there. His shoulders sagged, and he turned around wearily.

"What?"

Hermione bit her lip, wondering why those words had left her mouth without her permission. Then she sighed.

"You don't have to leave, Malfoy. You can stay here. I can transfigure the sofa into a bed at night, you'd have a place to sleep. I'll give you your own keys so you can stay and go as you please. There's no need for you to sleep under a bridge."

Draco swallowed, tempted by visions of a warm flat, a real bed, regular showers… It had been so cold outside lately. His lips opened but no words came out. Then he shook his head vigorously, the last of his Malfoy pride taking hold of his mouth.

"No. You don't mean that. You can't. I mean, what makes you think I need this, anyway? I don't need your help, Granger." He turned away again.

"Wait!"

He heard her rummaging and moving around, and then she was standing next to him.

"Take the keys anyway. Just in case."

She dropped them in the pocket of his cloak, and he walked away. She watched him go down the hallway, until the door to the staircase closed behind him. Then she sighed, running her hands over her face and through her hair.

"Stubborn git. I don't know why I even try."

* * *

He came back, of course, but it took longer than she'd expected. She transfigured the sofa into a bed every night before sleeping, leaving a light on in the living room and fresh towels in the bathroom, but her wards weren't tripped until three days later in the middle of the night. She woke up with a start, heard him rummaging about and closed her eyes again, a faint smile on her face as she fell asleep. He was gone again before she woke up the next morning, though, and so were the - now clean - clothes he'd worn when she found him. She was quite sure he'd also taken an apple or two from the counter.

The same happened again the next night, and the next, so when the wards were tripped again in the middle of Friday night, she waited until all was quiet for a long time before opening her bedroom door a crack. Draco Malfoy was sleeping in the transfigured sofa, his blond hair poking out from under the blankets. He hadn't even bothered to turn off the light. Hermione quietly moved into the armchair with a pillow and blanket of her own and made herself as comfortable as possible, determined not to let him leave again. She turned off the light with a quiet _nox_ and fell into a light and fitful sleep that was disturbed too soon. Light from the street lamps illuminated the living room just enough to see a tall figure moving about, quietly cursing and muttering about the darkness. The clock on the mantelpiece indicated it was around 5 am. She saw him move towards the door and coughed. He froze.

"Stay."

He didn't respond.

"You're supposed to pass by today anyway, Malfoy. Just stay, sleep some more. I'll get us breakfast, then we can talk. But I need to sleep some more first."

She got up, dragging the blankets and pillow to her bedroom, her body aching all over from the unnatural position in which she'd been sleeping. He was still standing at her front door, unmoving.

"Don't make a fuss about this, Malfoy, I'm too tired. Just swallow your pride and get back into that bed. We'll talk tomorrow. Please, just stay."

She didn't wait to see if he listened to her, but she could hear his footsteps returning as she closed the door to her own bedroom.

* * *

Hermione woke up with a headache from too little sleep and sore muscles that objected against the hours she'd spent in the armchair. She wrapped herself into an old bathrobe and let her feet take her straight to the coffee machine, pressed a few buttons and waited for the cup she had prepared the evening before to fill up. Only after the first sip, her mind started to clear up and she registered the noises coming from the bathroom and the dishevelled state of the bed in the middle of her living room.

She ran a hand through her hair, still trying to gather her wits about her. The sound of water running stopped, and after some time, Draco Malfoy stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered, hair still damp, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks.

"Morning Granger. You look a fright."

"Good morning to you, too, Malfoy. I see you decided to stay?" She sipped her coffee, her eyes fixing him over the rim of her cup.

"Any chance you're sharing?" he asked, ignoring her question and nodding at the cup she was holding. She rolled her eyes, turned to the coffee machine, grabbed a new mug for him and prepared his coffee.

"So what's for breakfast this time?" he asked, settling himself at the table.

Hermione turned back to him and handed him his coffee, rubbing her hand over her temple as she tried to dispel her pounding headache. She knew she shouldn't have had coffee without taking a headache potion or paracetamol, but she had run out of potions and the paracetamol was in the bathroom.

"I haven't had much time to go shopping, so cereal and milk. And there's some fruit on the counter if you like."

"That's sad, Granger. Don't you know the way to a man's heart is through his stomach? Cereal and milk just won't do." He smirked over his coffee cup and she scowled.

"Malfoy, I have a beast of a headache, I hardly slept at all, I had an exhausting week at work and I'm really not in the mood for your snark. So if you want food, either take what's on offer or go somewhere else."

Draco realised she did sound really tired, but couldn't help a last quip. "You're the one who practically begged me to stay, Granger. But fine, cereal and milk it is."

He surprised her by getting up, grabbing two bowls and the box of cereal from the counter and placing them on the table.

"Milk?"

She pointed at the fridge, not quite sure what to make of his helpfulness. He seemed to remember where the cutlery was, too, because he managed to open the right drawer immediately, taking out two spoons. As he sat down again, she merely raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged.

They ate in silence, and Hermione spelled the table clear when they were finished.

"Go take a shower first, Granger, maybe you'll feel better after. I'll wait until you're presentable."

To her own mortification, she actually growled at him, before hurrying away, cheeks flaming. She pretended not to hear his chuckle.

* * *

Hermione did feel better after a long and hot shower and a double dose of paracetamol, and she walked back into the living room with a smile, which almost faltered when she saw a cocky Draco Malfoy perched on her kitchen counter, leafing through her Daily Prophet and nibbling on an apple, looking as if he belonged there.

He looked up at her and the corners of his mouth turned up in an almost-smile.

"If that's what you call presentable…" But now she noticed the amused glint in his eyes that indicated he wasn't really trying to insult her, and she just rolled her eyes.

She hopped onto the table, reheating what little was left of her coffee with a wandless heating charm and looking at him as he put the newspaper down and waited.

"So, rough week?"

Hermione laughed, surprised. "Yes. Five raids on old Pureblood families that were mistreating their house elves. Some of the creatures were just…" She broke off and shuddered as she remembered the gashes and broken limbs. "I mean, I understand they want to serve, you know, I do, now. But that doesn't mean they should be treated like trash. They shouldn't be exploited and abused. But some of the old families, well…" She shook her head, trying to get rid of the memories.

"I know. Father… Well, you know, no doubt. I'm sorry. Five in one week, that must have been rough." He looked genuinely concerned, and she let out a quick laugh.

"We have to do the raids very quickly in a short time, or the families are forewarned. It's hell, though. Unfortunately that also means I haven't been able to do much for you. I'm sorry. I talked to Harry and Kingsley in passing, and they seem to agree you were treated rather unfairly, but I haven't had the time to put the paperwork through or prepare your defence or…"

"Granger, stop," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "It's fine, You don't have to do anything, really. I know it's a long shot at best, anyway. It's not worth the trouble. You have other things that need your attention more than this."

"I'm not giving up," she protested. "I'm not, I just…" She paused, biting her lip. "I think I just need some help," she continued. "Maybe, if you stayed here, you could go through the law books, find precedent, help me prepare the paperwork I need to file, that sort of thing. It would be easier if you stayed. I can bring in any books from the Ministry library, and I can help you in the evenings. And I'm sure it's not a long shot at all, Malfoy. I can get you your life back. Maybe not all of it, but… enough. Enough to get you off the streets. Enough to help you start again. Wouldn't you want that? How can you give up so easily?"

They were quiet for a long time, staring at each other. Then he looked away, his shoulders slumping.

"I have no hope left, Granger. It's just easier that way. No hope, no disappointments. You don't know how painful it is to make me listen to your plans, your willingness to fight for this, your faith that something good will come out of it. Nothing good has happened in my life since fifth year. I made my choices, and I have to pay the price. It's fine, I've accepted it. You don't need to fight."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

"I do need to fight. You did pay. You went to Azkaban for four years. That's enough. You were a child. You deserve better."

He let out a humourless laugh. "You're so convinced you're right, Granger. You always were. Then again, you always were right, too." He was quiet, still avoiding to look at her. "Have you stopped to think they might decide they weren't severe enough? Have you thought about what happens if they want to send me back there for another four, or five, or ten years? How can you ask me to risk that? At least I'm out now."

Her hair sparked with anger. "I won't let them."

"And how will you stop the Wizengamot? How will you stop the Aurors from finding me? Honestly, Granger, you're not making much sense."

Hermione jumped off the table, pacing back and forth in silence, trying to find the words to convince him. Then she stopped and looked up.

"I just realised, you've been out of the Wizarding world for five years. You don't know how much things have changed." She paused, running a hand over her face as she gathered her thoughts. "Kingsley has made such progress eradicating corruption in the Ministry. Harry and Ron have reorganised the Auror department from within. People have been fired, promoted sideways, prosecuted and thrown in prison… Half the Wizengamot has changed. It's not the same world as the one you left behind five years ago, Malfoy. It just isn't." She sighed. "I can imagine it may feel the same, if your only contact these past months has been Blaise. I know it's different for those on the Watchlist. I know it's not perfect, yet. But as soon as he was appointed, Kingsley started making waves in the Ministry, he knew exactly who to get rid of and who to put in their place. And because all the press attention was on the Death Eater trials, he basically managed to get away with revolution before people realised that what had happened went a lot deeper than the usual change of Cabinet."

She stepped closer to him, reaching out a hand but hesitating to touch him.

"So please don't give up without a fight. Please help me help you. Help me prepare your case and get your life back."

Her hand then fell on his, and she squeezed.

"Say you'll stay and help me with the research."

Draco wasn't sure when he'd stopped breathing. A passionate Hermione Granger was a sight to behold. Her eyes were blazing gold, her hand movements brusque and precise, her hair seemed to bounce with vigour and enthusiasm all on its own. He swallowed, his lungs almost bursting from the lack of oxygen. When she squeezed his hand, he sucked in a surprised breath.

"Fine, I'll stay. I'll do my part."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews and follows and favourites. As usual, no beta so if you spot any typos let me know.  
**

 **Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR and I take no responsibility for what they do or say.**

* * *

When Hermione entered her office at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures on Monday morning, she closed the door behind her, threw a silencing and locking spell at it, and let out a frustrated scream.

She'd hardly slept Friday night, and it was only after she'd convinced Malfoy to stay, that she thought about the consequences of such a well-intended invitation. Of course it was better for him to have a place to stay. And he could do the research uninterrupted. It just hadn't really occurred to her how much it would affect her. A Malfoy who _snored_. A Malfoy who took _ages_ in the bathroom in the morning. A Malfoy who _complained_ about the Muggle appliances in her kitchen, but was wholly uninterested in learning how they worked. A Malfoy who seemed to take up much more space in her flat than his slight frame suggested.

He was infuriating. He was exhausting. He complained about breakfast - "Really, Granger, don't you use salt in your eggs?"- and he complained about dinner - "Your spaghetti's overcooked, Granger. Ever heard of 'al dente'?" He complained about the clothes she'd given him - "Another Gryffindor shirt?" and he complained about the books she had on her shelves - "Do you ever read something just for fun?"

Shaking her head, she sat down behind her desk and tried to focus on work. She had five reports to complete on the abused house elves she'd rescued and a law to draft for the better treatment of werewolves. She shouldn't be thinking of Malfoy, lounging on her sofa and reading her books, complaining about how uncomfortable that sofa was, and why did she have so many cushions, anyway? And she certainly shouldn't be thinking of how attractive he looked when he came out of the bathroom in the mornings, his hair damp and mussed, a flush on his cheeks and his grey eyes shining with mischief. With a determined flick of her wand she cancelled the wards and set to work.

Around lunchtime, Hermione was interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Come in."

"Hey, Hermione. Do you feel like lunch?" Harry leaned against the door frame, his glasses slightly askew and a grin on his face.

"Oh, Harry! I don't know… I have a lot to do…" Hermione bit her lip, her eyes flicking between the parchment on her desk and her best friend.

"Come on, you have to eat. And we need to talk. You've been ignoring my owls forever, and if I didn't know you could take Malfoy in a fight any day, I'd have thought he'd murdered you in your sleep last week."

She huffed but didn't comment. It would be a little hypocritical, as she knew perfectly well that the same thought had made her ward her bedroom door every night.

"Fine, let's go. How about that coffee place we went to last time? They also serve lunch."

They exchanged small talk all the way through the Ministry up to the moment they were seated in the little Muggle cafe and had ordered their lunch. Then they fell silent, Hermione tracing the pattern of the tablecloth with her fingers, and Harry studying his best friend.

"Ron's sorry, you know."

"I should hope so."

"He's concerned about you. I am, too. But you don't seem to be cursed and you're clearly still alive, so I guess Malfoy didn't do anything to you."

She scoffed at the idea. "Of course not."

"You're not going to forgive him any time soon, are you?"

"I don't know, Harry. Is there any reason I should? Will he accept that I'm never going back to him? Will he accept that I'm helping Malfoy now, and that he's living with me until we get his sentence overturned?"

Harry stared at his hands while a waitress put their salads on the table.

"Malfoy's living with you?" he asked, as soon as she'd left.

Hermione shrugged. "It seems like a good solution. I have a feeling he's been living on the streets, and I can use his help to prepare his case for the Wizengamot."

"Are you really going to through with this, then?"

"Yes. Don't tell me you won't speak to me again, either, now."

"Of course I'll still speak to you. I just don't understand why. He was a bigoted git for years, he insulted you and bullied you for no good reason. Yes, he lied to his father and probably saved our lives, but he still just watched while Bellatrix…" Harry stopped when he noticed Hermione suddenly gripped her fork so tightly her knuckles turned deathly white. He placed his hands on hers and slowly pried her fingers open, his thumbs rubbing circles on the back of her hands. It took a few minutes before she released a shuddering breath, sending him a tight smile.

"I just don't understand why you'd go through all the trouble," he said again. "We testified at his trial. We did what we could then. I know the verdict was severe, but what makes you think they'll change their minds now?"

Hermione swallowed a mouthful of her salad and sipped her drink before answering him.

"I'm doing this because his sentence was too harsh. I think they'll change their minds because last time his lawyer made a cock-up of his arguments." She hesitated. "And things have changed since then, Harry, you know that. It's not the same Ministry and it's not the same Wizengamot. And this time, I'll be the one speaking for him. I won't fail. I _don't_ fail."

Then she smiled. "And I may be looking to move to the DMLE, so some experience in the courtroom might be good for my next job application," she added, with a wink.

Harry snorted. "Getting tired of the Magical Creatures, then?"

Hermione shrugged. "I feel like I've done all I could there, the Werewolf Bill will be my last. I can be more useful in the DMLE. I heard there will be a prosecutor position opening up, it'll be an interesting change."

"It'll be nice to have you closer by and on the same floor. Easier to lure you out for lunch."

They chuckled and finished their lunch in companionable silence.

"You will be careful, though, won't you?" Harry said while they walked back to the Ministry entrance.

"What do you mean?"

"Well… He's Malfoy. I suppose some years in Azkaban may have changed him, but… You know what Azkaban can do to people. And he's still Malfoy, still a Slytherin through and through. Who knows what he's trying to get out of this. Who knows what he'll be like when he does have his wand and his fortune back. Just be careful. I know what you're like, Hermione, and I just don't want you to get hurt."

Hermione hugged him tight. "Oh Harry. It's very sweet of you to worry but I can take care of myself. Now, say hi to Ginny for me. Promise me we'll do dinner some time soon."

"With Malfoy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you haven't kicked him out by Thursday, I suppose you better bring the git along." Harry grinned. "I'm sure he'll make for an interesting dinner companion."

She slapped his arm. "Maybe in small doses. I promise you, undiluted and constant Malfoy is an acquired taste, and I'm not even halfway to appreciating it." Then she shuddered. "I almost regret asking him to stay, but he really has no other place to go."

"And the more he gets under your skin, the more you'll be motivated to fight for his case and get him off your back."

She shrugged. "I suppose it's as good a motivator as anything. So Thursday then? Do you need to check with Ginny first?"

Harry shook his head. "Nah, she's been nagging me to ask you over for a while now, it'll be fine."

They smiled at each other, before going their separate ways.

* * *

Draco enjoyed poking around Granger's flat while she was at work. He'd never been alone in a Muggle home, it was fascinating. And it didn't hurt that he could now open all of her cupboards and stare at her photographs at leisure. He was a little miffed she'd locked her bedroom door, but there was plenty to discover in the kitchen and living room. He didn't dare touch any of the Muggle contraptions she'd tried to explain to him, but the few cookbooks she had were interesting. Who knew cooking could be like potions? And the light switch was mesmerising. It was almost as magical as a Lumos charm, and he most certainly did not spend a good fifteen minutes flicking the lights on and off, pretending he could do magic again. Certainly not. And his fingers didn't trail along the Potions and Charms books with nostalgic longing. No, of course not.

He scoffed at himself, behaving so ridiculously sappy, but part of him couldn't help it. This was the life that he had been denied. Released out of Azkaban, thrown out of the ministry with no wand, no money, nothing to help him start over after his prison sentence, he had been left out on the streets of Muggle London in a shabby cloak and old clothes that once had fitted him perfectly but now hung off his frame. Draco knew the Wizengamot and the Aurors that escorted him out had wanted him to crawl into a hole and die.

And now Granger wanted to lodge an appeal with the Wizengamot and reclaim his life? He eyed the stack of court files and law books she'd left on the table apprehensively. It was easy to believe he had a chance when she was there to convince him. It was easy to believe in her enthusiasm and passion for justice. But now, alone in her Muggle flat, he doubted he could ever have any kind of life again.

Those first nights on the street had been the worst. He was finally free from Dementors preying on his most horrible memories, but he wasn't safe. He wasn't safe anywhere, and it was exhausting. He didn't sleep, he had no food, and he felt like dying inside. He was beyond desperation when Blaise found him. He gave Draco a warmer cloak, some money, and promised to be back the next day and get him off the streets.

Draco had been back to the bench where they were supposed to meet every night for two weeks before Blaise showed up again. The Aurors had arrested him and grilled him about his connection with Draco and suspected Dark magic. They'd sat on the bench as Blaise spoke of the endless interrogation, long days in custody, raids on his house and scrutiny of all his businesses. He told Draco about the Watchlist and the restrictions that came with it, and that most people on the list were Slytherins and Purebloods, their old social circle. Draco realised then that nobody could help him.

Blaise tried, of course. He told Draco he'd keep in touch, and he did. They got totally wasted about once a month, an evening that usually started in a Muggle restaurant or other and ended with a pub crawl. He'd put a few hundred pounds in Draco's pocket before they separated, however much he could take out of his own accounts and not draw the Ministry's attention to, and that would tide Draco over for a while.

For months he'd been constantly hungry. He discovered the homeless shelters one day, and relished in the feel of a real bed or a quick shower, but he didn't talk to anyone. He was tempted, of course, to ask for help, but he didn't understand this Muggle world he had ended up in, and he was afraid he wouldn't be able to bluff his way out of his ignorance.

Day after day, month after month he'd survived, unable to do much more than that, until Granger had run into him, twice in the same week. Bloody Granger, of all people, with the tenacity of a Niffler on the trail of something sparkly, determined to give him food and a place to sleep, to give him hope when it really was better to have none. Or was it?

He eyed the stack of papers again and sighed, dragging a notepad and muggle pen closer as he settled at the table. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do.

* * *

Just as Hermione was about to finish up for the day and Floo home, Ron stormed into her office. She looked up, noticed the anger blazing in his eyes, and with a sniff and lips pressed tightly together she returned her attention to the sheaf of parchment she was sorting through.

"Well?"

She ignored him, placing a the parchment in three heaps: everything that was finished and properly addressed in the out tray, a stack of 'to do tomorrow' and one for 'later this week'.

"Is it true?"

She sighed, placing the last of the three finished reports in the Out tray. Then she put the lid on her ink well and cleaned her quills before dropping them in a drawer. She always liked to clean her desk before leaving the office, it helped her leave work behind when she went home. She didn't even flinch when Ron banged his fists on her desk, upsetting the bundle of reports she still had to finish. She merely tutted, shaking her head, and reordered the papers.

"Will you stop ignoring me?"

Hermione looked back up at Ron, her eyebrows arched and her face a careful blank.

"Is this urgent, Auror Weasley?" she enquired in her most professional tone. "It's past six already and I'd really like to go home."

"Don't play those bloody games, Hermione," Ron snarled.

Hermione shrugged, got up from her seat and summoned her cloak and bag with a quick flick of her wand.

"Maybe you can make an appointment through my secretary, then," she said with a cool smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Hermione, what the hell? I'm asking you a question, don't you bloody walk away."

He made to grab her arm but she quickly dashed out of his way.

"I don't owe you any answers, Ronald," she said, her voice cold and angry. "And I don't believe you're here to apologise, so I don't see why I should waste any time listening to you."

Ron laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Apologise? You're the one who's shacking up with a bloody Death Eater, aren't you?"

"Leave, Ronald," she said through gritted teeth.

"So it is true then? You're not denying it?" His voice was rising with every word and though the Ministry was mostly empty around this time, Hermione cast a quick muffliato to make sure nobody could eavesdrop. She refused to be dragged into a shouting match.

"It's none of your business, Ronald. I do believe you're the one who said our friendship would be over if I took him home from that pub. You haven't said a word to me in the past week, and now you come storming into my office, yelling at me as if I'm the one doing something wrong? Where the hell do you get off?"

"You're helping a Death Eater!"

"He saved my life!"

"He watched while Bellatrix carved that bloody scar into your arm!"

She stiffened, her hand clutching her forearm, her face going from flushed in anger to white as paper within seconds.

"Get the fuck out of my office," she hissed.

Ron took a step back, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

"Hermione…"

"GET OUT!"

Ron stumbled backwards, his eyes still firmly on Hermione, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but one look at her furious face made him reconsider. He turned around and all but ran away from the office.

Hermione slumped back into her chair, taking slow, deep breaths, her nails digging so hard into her palm that her skin broke. She didn't notice the blood.

* * *

Draco saw something was wrong as soon as she stepped out of the floo. Granger didn't talk to him. She barely seemed to notice him at all. She turned on one of the Muggle contraptions in the kitchen, put a pizza in it and took it out again some time later. Draco silently placed plates and glasses on the table, and offered to cut the pizza. She nodded absently and placed a slice on her own plate, but she didn't eat. He wasn't sure what he could say. Did she expect him to ask about her day? It wasn't as if they were friends. And why did he care anyway? He only noticed the dried blood on her hands when she reached for her glass.

"Granger, what happened to your hands?" he blurted out.

She blinked and slowly focused on him. Then her eyes trailed to her hands. She looked back up at him. Her eyes were strangely empty. He hurried to the bathroom and came back with a towel and a wet washcloth. Very gently he rubbed the blood off her hands. He could see the little crescent moon shaped wounds in the palm of her hands and the dried blood under her fingernails.

"That bad a day, huh," he muttered, and she let out a short, humourless laugh.

"Maybe you should make it an early night then. Go on, sleep. It'll be better in the morning. I'll clean up."

He pulled her up from her seat, and gently pushed her towards her bedroom. She was halfway there before she turned around.

"You're cleaning up? Since when do you act like a house elf?" Her smile was brittle and didn't reach her eyes, but her attempt at humour reassured Draco that she would be fine.

"I'm not," he responded, lifting his chin. "I'm a Malfoy. I would never stoop so low as to serve you. But I prefer a tidy home, so since I'm temporarily living here, I'm cleaning up. For myself, of course. Not for you." He sent her a quick smile. "Now off to bed with you, hurry up. And don't hog the bathroom, Granger."

He watched as she made her way to the bathroom, shaking her head.

It was only after he'd cleaned up the table, washed up the dishes and settled himself in the sofa with the transcripts of his trial that he realised two things. Firstly, Granger had forgotten to turn the sofa into a bed. Secondly, he'd been concerned. About her.

He tried to push away the confusion that welled up in him and focused on the papers in his lap, but his eyes strayed to the closed bedroom door more often than he cared to admit to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: What can I say, this went in a direction I didn't really expect. Anyway, time to shake things up a bit, no? As always, thank you for the lovely reviews.**

 **Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine and I make no profit from this.**

 **TW! Panic attack**

* * *

"No! No! Not again! Stop!"

The blood-curdling screams echoed in his head, louder and more desperate than ever. He heard them every time the Dementors came near his cell, but they had never been so _real_ , so _painful_ , slicing through his bones and ripping through his chest. He heard the maniacal laugh of his aunt and shot up, eyes wide open and unseeing, trying to catch his breath. It took a while before he realised he was no longer in his cell in Azkaban. And the screams didn't stop.

He stumbled off the sofa and made his way to the bedroom. He tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge. And the screams didn't stop.

"Granger!" he yelled, banging on the door. "Granger, wake up! You're dreaming, Granger, wake the fuck up and open the bloody door!"

He could feel the walls closing in on him, breath coming in irregular gasps. _Not now. Not now._ He tried to push the paralysing fear away, to block out the screams that still didn't stop.

"GRANGER!"

Cold tendrils were clawing at his chest, and breathing became even more difficult. His muscles stiff and weak at the same time, and he pressed his nails into the palms of his hands, struggling not to close down. He tried to focus on the door, throwing himself against it again and again, hoping the physical pain would stop the darkness from overwhelming him and the noise would finally wake Granger and stop the cries that pushed him deeper and deeper into his own mind. _Not now. Not now._

He only realised the screaming had stopped when the door opened and he nearly stumbled into her. She clutched the doorknob with one hand, the wand in her other falling to the floor with a clatter that was extremely loud in the sudden silence between them. The mudblood scar on her arm stood out, raw and red as if it had only just been carved. They stared at each other, both wide-eyed and desperately willing away the nightmares, their breaths shallow and quick.

Draco took a deep breath, reached out and yanked Granger into the living room, almost dragging her to the couch. She didn't resist, her eyes still wide with horror, as he pushed her onto the couch and wrapped her in his duvet. His hands shook, but he forced himself to focus and keep breathing. _This isn't about me._

He went to retrieve her wand, then looked back at her. Her eyes followed him as he moved away.

"May I?" He swished the wand around, and she blinked, trying to make sense of his question. She nodded, not really knowing what he'd asked.

"Take a deep breath. It was just a dream. Deep breath."

He kept mumbling the same words over and over, and he wasn't sure if it was for his own benefit or hers. He poured milk into two large mugs and added chocolate, then he hesitated, looking at the wand. It seemed to be humming in his hand. He hadn't touched a wand in almost five years. He took a deep breath and muttered " _Caldo_." The milk heated up immediately, and after a quick swirl the hot chocolate was ready. He took the mugs back, placed his own on the table and sat next to her on the couch. He put her mug against her lips.

"Drink. It's hot chocolate, it'll do you good. My mother used to make it after I had a nightmare when I was a child. Go on, have a sip." His voice was hushed and gentle as he tried to make her drink.

She shuddered as she swallowed the hot liquid. He helped her until her hand came up from under the duvet to stop him.

"You haven't had any," she muttered, her voice hoarse from the screaming.

One corner of his mouth quirked up in a half smile that wasn't reflected in his eyes as she took the mug from him. He turned away from her, carefully picking up his own. He hoped his hands wouldn't tremble as much if he moved slowly. He took a few sips from his mug, enjoying the warmth spread through him, feeling instantly comforted. Only then he felt in control again.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be. Not your fault."

"I don't often have nightmares, but when I saw Harry today he mentioned… He mentioned your aunt Bellatrix and then Ron as well... I guess it just triggered… I'm sorry I woke you up."

He let out a humourless laugh.

"You're sorry you woke me up? I'm sorry you even have that dream at all." They sat silently next to each other, staring into the darkness for a long time.

"That's what I always heard, you know," Draco said quietly. "Every time the Dementors came near, I'd hear the screams of all the torture victims I'd seen, and I'd just sit there with the walls closing in on me, trapped in my own head, hearing the screams against and again, seeing it all happening over and over again, until they all blended into one. Until they all blended into your voice, and I'm back in that drawing room, and I'm doing nothing. Nothing at all to stop it. Of all the things I witnessed, all the things I did, it's you. You're my worst memory, Granger." He let out a bitter laugh and took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry I didn't do anything then. I'm so sorry I let her… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She placed a hand on his arm and he turned to look at her. She tried to speak, coughed and tried again.

"That's something we have in common, then. It's my worst memory too. But I don't blame you. I really don't."

He smiled sadly at her, then looked away again. "My worst memory and my biggest regret. I don't know how you can say you don't blame me. I blame me."

Granger just shrugged. "You didn't hold that knife, Draco. You didn't even tell them who we were. It's over now. It's been years, and I've learned to deal with it. The nightmares aren't very frequent, you know. It doesn't matter, not really. They're dreams and memories, they can't hurt me any more."

Draco shivered in the cold night air, and then stiffened in surprise when Granger rearranged the duvet so they were both covered. She shifted closer to him, and put her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you for the chocolate," she whispered.

He relaxed a little, but didn't respond. They sat on the couch in silence, sipping their hot chocolates, until the sun came up.

* * *

Hermione finished the drafted new Werewolf law with a flourish of her quill and rolled the parchment up to send it to her assistant to be looked over. It was only mid-morning, but after that horrible nightmare, neither she nor Malfoy had managed to fall asleep again, and she'd decided to get an early start at work.

Malfoy had tried to stop her, which was actually rather nice of him.

"Are you sure you should go to work today, after… I mean, I'm sure you could take the day off if you need it," he'd said. Hermione had only smiled and shaken her head.

"I think you have more problems dealing with this than I," she'd laughed. "Honestly, Malfoy, they are only dreams. I'm fine, I really am."

She wasn't, actually. The first year after the war, the nightmares and memories of all that had happened had haunted her. But they had slowly started to fade away as her life changed. The world was relatively calm and peaceful, she had a steady job and her two best friends to hang out with, and somehow that had been enough to get over it - most of it. Any mention of her parents still hurt like hell, and some memories of the War could still tear her apart. The torture she'd endured at Malfoy Manor was one of those things she could barely stand being reminded of. But she refused to let Bellatrix have any kind of power over her, so she went to work as if nothing had happened. And if she was really honest with herself, she'd admit that Draco taking care of her had helped her feel safe again. Somehow his presence had made it easier to just shrug it all off.

Hermione realised she'd been in her office for most of the morning, and decided this was as good a time as any to go see some of the members of the Wizengamot about Malfoy's case. She could grab a coffee on the way back, and maybe a raspberry muffin, if there were any left.

* * *

The meeting with Icarus Diggle, son of Order Member Daedalus Diggle and one of the younger members of the Wizengamot, had been surprisingly quick. He had agreed to support her plea and nudged her towards Cressida Jones, another young member who was likely to support the appeal to have Malfoyreinstated in Wizarding society. She was eternally grateful that Kingsley had given her Diggle's name when she'd spoken to him the week before.

Hermione was so happy with the result that she almost didn't notice the stares, whispers, halting conversations and pointing fingers as she made her way to Harry's office. It was only two floors above Icarus Diggle's office, and she wanted to see if he had time for a coffee as well.

Dean Thomas stopped her just as she had stepped out of the elevator.

"Hermione? Is it true?"

She smiled up at her old classmate, her eyebrows lifted in confusion.

"Hi, Dean. Is what true?"

Dean looked around, noticed the interested stares and guided her to an empty corridor. He waved the Daily Prophet at her.

"Is it true you've taken up with Malfoy and intend to have his sentence overturned?" His voice was deceptively calm, but Hermione noticed the flicker of anger in his eyes and she squared her shoulders.

"I'm still not sure what you mean, Dean. I'm helping Draco so he can get some semblance of a life. I don't want to have him completely acquitted, but I do believe the Wizengamot should reconsider ostracizing him from our society. He served four years in Azkaban, I'm not sure why he also had to give up his right to carry a wand, and all his money, and his home. It's a bit much, considering he was mostly a child under duress."

"But… You were there! You know what he did!"

Hermione then remembered that Dean had been captured and kept prisoner at Malfoy Manor. She sighed put a hand on his arm to comfort him.

"Dean, I'm not saying he's completely innocent. But I do believe that if we want to move on, as a society, we shouldn't encourage resentment and retaliation. And situations like Malfoy's… Well, it's bound to create resentment eventually. And that can only lead to more anger and even a new Dark Lord. If we, as a society, give him and people like him a chance to redeem himself, to become part of this new Wizarding world, then maybe all our efforts won't have been for nothing."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, staring at the wall over Hermione's head before taking a deep breath and nodding.

"Fine, I understand that. But do you have to shag him too?"

"WHAT?"

Hermione's shriek drew some curious glances, and she waved them on, embarassed.

"What ARE you talking about?"

Dean pulled a newspaper from his robes and pushed it at her. The headline glared at her in all its scandalous glory.

TRIO'S GOLDEN GIRL: FROM DEFEATING HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED TO DEFENDING DEATH EATERS

She gasped, her mouth moving without making a sound. Her eyes flicked between the newspaper and Dean's face, incredulous and panicked.

"I take it you hadn't seen the newspaper then," he observed, looking away uncomfortably.

She barely managed to shake her head. Her eyes flew over the article, again and again as she tried to make sense of the words.

 _Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio, is rumoured to have taken a personal interest in a certain Dark Wizard. A heart-broken Ronald Weasley told this reporter that he was dumped for convicted Death Eater Draco Malfoy, the former Slytherin Golden Boy and heir to the once vast Malfoy fortune. That is, until the Wizengamot convicted him for war crimes five years ago. It seems Ms. Granger, once dubbed 'the brightest Witch of our age', has not simply taken Mr. Malfoy under her wing, but is actually living with him in her tiny one-bedroom flat in Muggle London._

 _"They hated each other at Hogwarts, I just don't understand what she sees in him. He was always a bigoted bully, and now they're living together! She never even wanted to move in with me!" Ronald Weasley exclaimed, clearly tormented by mental images of his ex-girlfriend and the former Death Eater together._

 _Mr. Malfoy, whose actions led to the demise of Professor Albus Dumbledore, once the most popular Headmaster Hogwarts had ever known, was convicted on three accounts of attempted murder, for taking the Dark Mark and torturing Muggles and Wizards alike during the Second Wizarding War. The Wizengamot defended their ruling, a very lenient sentence, a mere four years in Azkaban, by stating that Mr. Malfoy wasn't of age at the time, and acted under duress. The records of the trial are sealed as Mr. Malfoy was not legally an adult when he committed those crimes, so rumours that Ms. Granger testified in his favour have long remained unconfirmed._

 _"I should have known when she went to his trial. I should have know I was just a temporary replacement," Mr. Weasley whispered, as he tried to drown his sorrows in Firewhiskey._

 _It is not the first time one could question Ms. Granger's sanity. Her never-ending quest to free house elves and attempts to pass laws that protect the foulest of creatures, such as werewolves, clearly indicate she has an unhealthy obsession with the unworthy, but to enter a relationship with a Death Eater surely is one step too far, even for one of the Heroes of the Wizarding World._

 _"She can't know what she's doing," implored a very distraught Ronald Weasley, his blue eyes filling with tears. "She must be Imperiused. She would never look at that ferret twice." Mr. Weasley was in a relationship with Ms. Granger for almost five years, from the Final Battle onwards. She broke off their engagement without giving any specific reason four months ago, and has refused any interviews on the matter. Observant readers might remember that Mr. Malfoy was released from Azkaban just over four months ago, as well. Could this be a coincidence? Or is the former Gryffindor Princess playing with the hearts of her many suitors yet again?_

 _Faithful readers no doubt recall that Ms. Granger attended the Triwizard Tournament Yule Ball with Bulgarian Seeker Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang Champion, despite rumours of a romantic entanglement between Ms. Granger and the Boy Who Lived - one of the Hogwarts Champions. There were reports, at the time, of a fight between the Golden Trio, though none of the parties involved cared to comment at the time. Mr. Weasley, when reminded of the episode, almost sobbed in this reporter's arms. "She refused to go to the Ball with me," he confessed, "and then she turned up with one of Harry's rivals in the Tournament. It felt like a knife to the back."_

 _Although Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley confirmed their relationship very soon after the Final Battle, it is well known that she spent months alone with Harry Potter in the year before, though what the Chosen One and his friends were up to has never been revealed. "I always knew I wasn't good enough for her," sighed Ronald Weasley, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I just wish she hadn't strung me along for so long."_

Hermione crumpled the paper in her fists, angry tears blurring the pictures of Draco Malfoy being escorted into Azkaban and herself and Ron dancing at some Ministry function a few years ago.

"I can't believe he did that," she whispered.

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Hermione…"

She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts, and quickly spelled away any traces of tears.

"It's fine. It's just the Prophet. I'll deal with it." She squared her shoulders and stepped away from Dean.

"As to your question, Dean, I appreciate your concern for my safety and sanity, but I can assure you I'm capable of taking care of myself. I'm not Imperiused. Anything else is none of your business. Now excuse me."

She marched away, the newspaper still clutched in her hands, her back rigid and her chin held up defiantly. This time, she did notice all the whispers and stares as she passed one office and turned into another corridor. Her face became a blank, indifferent mask.

* * *

She knocked on Harry's door and entered without waiting for an answer. As soon as she had closed the door, she leaned against it, one hand over her eyes, and she sighed deeply.

"Hermione?" Harry sounded concerned.

She looked up at him and tried to smile, but her mouth became a grim line when she noticed they weren't alone in Harry's office.

"Ronald Weasley," she said, seething with fury. She was so surprised to see him, she didn't even think to whip out her wand and curse him.

Ron swallowed and took a step towards her. "I'm really so sorry, Hermione, I never meant for this to happen."

Hermione grit her teeth, glaring at him. Ron hesitated, glanced at Harry, who looked stonily back at his friend, and then fixed his eyes on the floor.

"I went to the Leaky last night. Got drunk. Might've ranted about… Malfoy… You… Everything… Parvati Patil was there and heard it all."

He gestured weakly at the newspaper.

"I really am sorry." He stood in front of her, a contrite look on his face and his hands nervously fiddling with the edge of his cloak.

Hermione tossed the newspaper at his head in a bout of fury. But as she looked at Ronald Weasley's remorseful face and pleading eyes, she felt drained. She didn't know if it was the lack of sleep, or the whirlwind of emotions she'd gone through in the last day or so, but suddenly she was just so tired. She slumped to the floor.

"These last few weeks, you've hurt me so much. Every time we saw each other, it was one thing after another, ever since that night in the pub." She sighed, leaning her forehead on her knees. "Saying sorry isn't going to cut it, not this time, Ron."

He crouched down next to her, hesitantly taking her hand in his.

"Tell me what I can do to make it up. Anything, Hermione. I don't want to lose you."

Hermione turned her head to look at him, and Ron started when he noticed her eyes, dull and sad.

"Maybe it's too late already," she whispered. She felt Harry kneeling down on her other side, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Hermione," Harry murmured, but she grasped his hand and squeezed in warning.

"No. No, I'm not going to pretend it's alright. I'm not going to say I'm fine with this for the sake of our friendship. I can't just sit here and forgive him, just because it's easier for you, Harry. I'm feeling really hurt right now, Ron. And it hurts all the more because you're one of my best friends and I care for you so much. But you need to sort this out yourself, Ron. You need to figure out why you keep hurting me like that, if you don't really mean to. You have to deal with whatever it is that makes you say or do those things, if you want to save our friendship, because I'm not going to be your punch bag. I'm not just going to take every painful blow with a smile in the name of friendship, that's just… it's just wrong. And it's wrong of either of you to expect it. I deserve more respect than that. So leave me alone until you know you won't do this again. I don't think there's anything else you can do to make this better right now. I'm sorry. There just isn't." She was crying now, and trying hard to stifle her sobs as Ron let go of her hand and got up.

"I promise you I'll make it up to you, Hermione. But I know I hurt you and you need some time now, so I'll leave you alone. I'm so sorry."

He walked to Harry's fireplace and tossed some Floo powder in. Without turning back, he disappeared in the green flames.

Hermione turned into Harry's arms and cried. It was as if all the tears she'd never allowed herself to cry suddenly came flooding. Tears for the parents whose memories she hadn't been able to restore, tears for a relationship that had ended despite her best efforts, tears for a friendship she had suddenly lost. And Harry just held her and let her cry.


	5. Chapter 5

Exhausted after her emotional breakdown in Harry's office, Hermione had fallen into a fitful sleep. Harry put her comfortably on the sofa in his office, and handed her a strong coffee when she woke up. He didn't ask her any questions, and she didn't say much either. The pain of suddenly well and truly having lost one of the most important people in her life was just too fresh. But she knew it was the right thing to do, and Harry, whether or not he agreed, at least respected her decision.

When she returned to her office, it was clear the Ministry rumour mill had been working with its usual efficacy. She noticed all the stares and whispers, all the pointing fingers, and even whispered insults and public snubbing, though none of her colleagues approached her about it. She was grateful she could lock herself up in her office once more, and pretend there was no gossip spreading around like Fiendfyre just outside her door. She went through the post her assistant had left on her desk.

 _Dear Miss Granger_

 _I have taken the liberty of speaking to my honourable colleague Ms. Jones myself, when we met to discuss another case. She is supportive of your request for an appeal. Enclosed are the official statements of myself and my colleague._

 _A date for the appeal will be set when you hand in the required paperwork with Mr. Rivers, the Court Scribe._

 _Sincerely_

 _The Honourable Icarus Diggle_

 _Warlock of the Wizengamot_

Hermione carefully rolled up the little note and secured it, together with the two statements, in a drawer in her desk. Icarus Diggle's note made her feel slightly better, and she methodically completed the complicated and tedious appeal request forms. She only needed Malfoy's signature, and the whole plan could be put in motion.

* * *

Hermione arrived home late. She had stayed in her office until the Ministry was nearly empty, not quite ready to face the usual throng of witches and wizards that returned home at 5 pm sharp. It always amused her that, no matter how often Wizards insisted they were different from Muggles, when it came to work ethics, the civil service was the same just about everywhere. Now she was hungry and tired when she stepped out of the Floo in her flat at 7, and hoped she could whip up a quick dinner without too much fuss from her house guest.

Draco looked up from his seat at the table as she walked over, apprehension in his eyes.

"How was your day?"

"Some bad, some worse, some good. Not exactly what I was hoping for when I left this morning, but I'll live." Hermione shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over a chair, walking through to the kitchen. "I have the support of two Warlocks of the Wizengamot for your appeal, so if you sign the paperwork I can file it tomorrow," she added, smiling at him over her shoulder. She almost misstepped at the brilliant smile that answered hers. She whipped her head forwards again and swallowed. "How is your preparation coming along?"

Hermione heard some unintelligible grumbles as she poked her head in various cabinets, the fridge and the freezer, looking for any food she could combine into a halfway decent meal. She straightened up again, a scowl on her face.

"Didn't you go shopping?"

Draco pressed his lips together and shook his head, avoiding her eyes.

"Why?" Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes, and she grit her teeth, irritated with herself. She wasn't sure why something as ridiculous as this seemed to hit her so hard. But there was nothing in the house, bar some beans in tomato sauce, and she really didn't feel like beans on mouldy toast right now.

Something flickered over Draco's face but it was gone before she could pinpoint it, a mask that reminded her eerily of the arrogant Draco Malfoy from Hogwarts firmly in place.

"Not my fault you can't keep a bloody house elf to do your shopping, Granger," he sneered. "I had better things to do with my time today."

Hermione tried to get a grip on her temper, but between sleep deprivation, the day's emotional rollercoaster and Draco Malfoy's weird mood swings, she was fighting a losing battle.

"And what the fuck did you have to do today?" she exploded. "Did you have a ten-hour work day? Did you have to face the gossip at the Ministry after being dragged through the mud by the Daily Prophet? Did you lose one of your best friends today? Tell me, Malfoy, why the bloody hell you couldn't be arsed to go to the supermarket around the corner and buy some food when you've been here all day? I left you money! I fucking asked you!"

Hermione breathed heavily, her face flushed and her hair standing on end, crackling with magical tension.

And then, just like earlier in Harry's office, the fight drained out of her and she slumped against the kitchen cabinets, her arms wrapped protectively around her stomach and her eyes firmly on the floor.

"I can't deal with this. I can't deal with this right now. I just can't."

She didn't notice he had walked up to her until his feet came into view.

He reached out with one hand, gently trying to lift her chin, but she stubbornly jerked out of his grip.

"Granger, what do you mean, being dragged through the mud and losing your friends?"

He stroked a thumb over her cheek and she observed, rather detached, that it was wet. Why was his thumb wet? Or was she crying?

"Hermione, tell me? Please?"

Hermione shook her head, still looking away from Draco, and pushed weakly at his chest.

"Please just leave me alone."

* * *

Draco took a step back and examined the witch in front of him. He hadn't expected such an emotional outburst when he'd made his snippy remark, he'd rather thought they'd start bickering, as they had the days before. And she looked so shattered right now, so fragile, almost as if she was an entirely different person. Her hair, which had crackled with magic in a blaze of fury only moments before, now hung limply around her head. She was hugging herself hard, as if she was afraid that she would fall to pieces if she let go for even just one moment.

"Hermione?" He waited until she finally did glance up at him, only for a second, before directing her eyes at the floor again.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk about this?" Draco bit his lip uncertainly. He wanted to give her space, if she really did want that, but he didn't want to leave her alone if she needed comfort. One detached part of his brain observed mockingly that he'd never thought he'd see the day he had to comfort Hermione Granger, of all people, twice in one day. Another part didn't particularly want to examine the reasons why he didn't want to leave her alone while she was in such a state.

Hermione shrugged, then sighed and furiously wiped away the tear tracks from her face.

"I had a fight with Ron yesterday. He went to the Leaky, got drunk, said all sorts of things that ended up in the Prophet. Now everyone in the Wizarding world thinks I broke up with Ron because of you, that I'm a tramp who strings men along, that I'm sleeping with you, and I'm getting all these stares and whispers at the Ministry and…" She paused for breath, then shrugged again. "I went to see Harry after I read the article, and Ron was there and he apologised, of course, but I was just so angry, after everything he's said and done these past weeks, it was just too much, and I told him to leave me alone, and now it feels like I lost one of my best friends and it _hurts_. And then I came home and I just…" She made a sound between a sob and a chuckle, looking up at him now. "I just wanted to eat and go to bed and now there's nothing in the house and..."

Draco stepped closer again, and hesitantly pulled her into a hug. She stood stiffly in his arms, too shocked to say anything. She didn't pull away, though, so he held her until she leaned into him, her forehead resting on his shoulder. It felt decidedly weird, but at the same time, not, to hold her in his arms.

In his mind, he went over everything he shouldn't say right now, that the Weasel was an idiot, that it didn't surprise him at all that he mucked up his relationship with Hermione like that, that he hadn't expected anything less from someone brought up in a pigsty, that she deserved a lot better. The words in his head didn't quite make it to his mouth though.

"I'm sorry that you had a fight with Weasel-y. Weasley." He paused as the name rolled off his tongue again, and his nose twitched in disgust.

"I know he is important to you, so I'm sorry. The thing with the Prophet, it'll all blow over soon enough, one way or another, after the trial. You're probably just taking it all so hard because last night was… well, last night."

He swallowed, turning his head away from the unruly curls that tickled his chin and cheeks. He didn't want to apologise for being the cause of all those problems in the first place, because he imagined it would make her feel guilty for complaining at all. There was something else he could say, though.

"And I'm sorry I didn't go shopping, and made it all worse."

She let out a shaky sigh and leaned back to look at him, her eyes still red-rimmed and fresh traces of tears on her cheeks. He let his arms drop to his sides and sent her an apologetic smile.

"Why didn't you?"

Draco knew he had to be honest, but the question still brought a hot flush to his cheeks. He mumbled his answer, avoiding her eyes.

"didnohowtpay."

"What?"

He swallowed, and repeated his answer a little louder.

"I didn't know how to pay. I didn't want to risk… The statute and all that."

"But I thought you'd used Muggle money before. I left you money," she said, brows furrowing.

Draco gestured at the end of the counter.

"You left me a plastic thingy."

Hermione looked at the bank card and the note with the code, and blinked.

"You don't know how to pay by card." It was more an observation than a question.

"That doesn't even make any sense, what you just said. I didn't understand what to do and I didn't want to make a fool of myself so I kept putting it off and then you came home..." He stopped when she put a hand over his mouth, a tiny smile on her lips. Draco promptly forgot how to breathe.

"You're rambling," Hermione said, her voice a little ragged from all the emotions. Grey eyes stared into brown ones for what seemed like the longest time, before Hermione turned away and stepped around Draco with a disparaging snort.

"What a mess. I've made a right fool of myself, haven't I? Never mind. Give me a few minutes to clean up, we'll go to the fish'n chips shop tonight. I don't feel like cooking anyway and I could use some comfort food. And then I'll take you to Sainsbury's and explain all about the card, ok?"

She didn't even look back at him as she quickly disappeared into the bathroom.

Draco took a deep breath, wondering what exactly had just happened, and realising maybe he didn't really want to know.

* * *

Draco hadn't felt this greasy since before that first shower in Hermione's flat. He was certain fish and chips was one thing he would never again voluntarily indulge in. True, his months on the streets had made him less picky about what he would and would not eat. Anything tastes better than starvation. But now, with a warm bed to go home to, and regular meals to boot, he felt justified in turning up his nose to the food Hermione presented him with.

And it wasn't just that the tables were sticky, the chairs uncomfortable plastic, and the other customers looked less than clean. No, the food itself was simply… gross. Soggy, lumpy chips doused in salt and vinegar - vinegar of all things, it was barbaric. The fish was edible, but why was it wrapped in a newspaper? And eating it with his fingers? He hadn't forgotten the table manners that had been drilled into him since childhood, even if he hadn't had much occasion to use them in recent years. He shuddered and pinched his eyes closed as he put another chip in his mouth, swallowing the lump with a mouthful of tepid beer and a grimace that made Hermione laugh.

"Not your thing, then, I take it?"

The way his nose curled up was enough of an answer. But he hadn't yet forgotten what hunger was like, so he soldiered on, promising himself to buy at least one decent bottle of wine at the supermarket to make up for this abomination of a meal. He didn't want to complain out loud, though. The man behind the counter was about twice Goyle's size, and that was a conservative estimate.

"I think it's an acquired taste," he said, diplomatically.

Hermione giggled.

"And you're not interested in acquiring it?"

His carefully neutral face told her everything she needed to know, and she grinned at him.

"I wonder, then, what you'll think of me if I tell you I missed this at school."

Draco's eyes widened in surprise.

"This?" He waved his hand over the lump of battered and fried fish and heap of chips lying between them on a greasy newspaper.

Hermione nodded, still smiling brightly.

"My parents and I used to have fish and chips about every two weeks, usually on a Friday evening, when mum had a late evening at her practice. She was a dentist - a teeth healer, I suppose. My dad was, too, but he always stopped early on Fridays to pick me up from school and we'd do something special together. And because mum would be too tired to cook by the time she got home, and we were too lazy, we often stopped at the fish'n chips shop on the way. It became our Friday ritual. We still did it sometimes when I was home for the summer during Hogwarts. So this food always reminds me of them." Her smile turned wistful now, and she popped another bite in her mouth.

Draco swallowed another morsel of fish and tried not to show his revulsion, frantically thinking about something to say.

"Do you see them often these days?"

She froze and all the colour drained from her face. Her hands gripped the table so hard her knuckles turned white. He cursed himself. Clearly this wasn't the right thing to ask.

"I haven't seen them since the summer after sixth year," she said, after an awkward pause, turning away from him to stare out the window.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She shrugged, and Draco waited.

"Most people don't know. I… I obliviated them, you see. Sent them off to Australia, without their memories of me. Too dangerous here in Britain for the parents of Harry Potter's little Mudblood friend." She let out a disparaging laugh. "After it all ended, I tried to find them, to reverse the spell. It didn't work. I suppose I did it too thoroughly. They'll never remember me. I've… It was the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurts. They wouldn't have been safe." She lifted her chin defiantly, her eyes glittering but she was determined not to cry. "Now you do know, and I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it again." Her voice broke.

He let his least greasy hand reach over the table and gently squeezed hers, before retreating again. He wasn't sure what he could say. She was right, after all. The Death Eaters had tried to find them.

"Between my parents, I'm not sure which is worse. My father no longer wants to know me - would have disowned me as soon as he knew I'd lied about you three. He couldn't, of course, his assets were frozen pending the trials, and he wasn't allowed to sign or write up any legal document. Not that it makes much of a difference now. Although, to be fair, that was one thought that kept me sane during my stay at our Ministry's service." He shrugged, sending her a crooked smile. "The thought that no matter what, I'd never have to see him again. Don't get me wrong, I loved him, once. But not the man he became. I'm glad he's been put away for life."

He chewed on a chip, washing it down again with the warm beer.

"And you probably know about my mother." He didn't want to say any more. Narcissa Malfoy had been tortured to the point of insanity by rogue Death Eaters when it became clear she'd lied to Voldemort about Harry. She had been in St. Mungo's ever since. The Prophet, at the time, had callously called it poetic justice, for the sister of the woman who tortured the Longbottoms to insanity now suffered from the same fate. Hermione shivered at the memory.

"What a pair we make."

He snorted. "Looks like that's another thing we have in common, then."

Hermione shook her head forcefully, banishing the gloomy thoughts from her mind. She grabbed the last chip, bit off half and held the other half out to him.

"Want to share the last one?"

Draco looked at the half chip, then her hand, then her face. He bit his lip in hesitation, then slowly shook his head. He was sure he imagined the disappointment that flashed over her face.

* * *

The supermarket had been an interesting experience, to say the least. He'd avoided those large Muggle shops when living on the streets, after they'd kicked him out of one quite early on. He still felt intimidated entering the brightly lit shop, but with Hermione muttering explanations at him as they went on, it wasn't too bad. Her breath ghosted over his cheeks every time she tried to whisper something in his ear, and it was terribly distracting. Another feeling he tried to push away never to examine it again.

Hermione had explained about the paying card - bank card, she called it - and she'd made him try it at the end. Draco had been sure it would go wrong, that the card would refuse to do what he wanted and that he'd be arrested and thrown in prison, or worse, that he'd somehow create a magical disturbance and the Obliviators would burst into the shop, make everyone forget and send him to Azkaban again. It had been fine, of course.

When they got home again, Hermione was swaying on her feet and he pushed her towards the bathroom.

"You're tired. Go get ready for bed, I'll put everything away."

She surprised him by pressing a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you." She smiled up at him before walking towards the bathroom.

He most certainly had not felt any tingles on his cheek reaching all the way to the bottom of his spine. _Absolutely not._

He groaned and rested his head against the kitchen cabinet doors as he listened to the shower noises coming from the bathroom. _I can't be attracted to her._

* * *

 ** _I'm getting lazy with ANs. Anyway, thank you for the reviews and encouragements! Dinner with Harry and Ginny coming up!_**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Argh, feeling a bit stuck, but I'll get there. Sorry this took so long. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Draco listened to the traffic noises of a typical London night, having long accepted that sleep was not on the cards that night. The occasional siren always seemed to jerk him awake just as he was about to embrace the blissful numbness of sleep. And then his brain ran circles around the same topic, preventing sleep yet again.

Three weeks ago, his life had been predictable. Hunger, cold, survival. And then she'd waltzed into his life, reminding him of the life he'd lost, and offering him an opportunity to gain it back. Suddenly he had a chance to live, instead of survive. Suddenly he had access to a comfortable bed, hot showers, food, clean clothes every day. And it was terrifying, because he didn't know how he could go back to life on the streets after this, if it didn't work out. And it was all Hermione's fault.

Hermione. When had she become Hermione, instead of Granger anyway? Draco groaned in his pillow and hit the mattress with his fists. He was attracted to her. She'd always had something that caught his attention, of course, even at Hogwarts. But now they were living in the same flat, sharing meals, spending time together and he realised that the Hermione Granger he thought he knew and disliked wasn't the real Hermione Granger.

Of course, she was still a know-it-all and took up the cause of any strays that crossed her path – even him. Her hair was as bushy as ever and her magic annoyingly impressive. But he hadn't known she was funny.

He'd guessed she'd be courageous and daring, being a Gryffindor, but he hadn't realised how fiercely loyal she was, or how well she could hold her own in a debate.

Somewhere in the past few days, teasing her and proclaiming the most outrageous opinions was no longer about trying to unnerve her, but wanting to see her cheeks flush and eyes ignite with passion. He was falling for her, hard. And he didn't know how to deal with that.

Draco turned to his back and stared at the ceiling, tracing the intricate pattern projected by the street lights through the tree branches. Usually this didn't keep him awake, but tonight the room seemed too bright.

'You can't,' he told himself. 'You can't fall for her. Whether or not the appeal is successful, once that's over she'll be out of your life. And even if… why would she want a Death Eater? Why would she want me?' His arms wrapped around his chest, and his arms dug painfully in his ribs. 'Don't give in,' he kept telling himself, until the rising sun alerted him that it was time to start another day.

* * *

Hermione dropped some pieces of peach and banana in her porridge, and then flicked her wand to open the window and let the Daily Prophet owl in. She'd left too early to read the newspaper the day before, and it had blown up in her face. She hated that rag, but it was still better to know what utter drivel they had published than to go into the Ministry unprepared. She hadn't expected for the parliament of owls that swooped into her living room, dropping one smoking red envelope after another on Draco's unmade bed and flying away again with snapping beaks and loud screeches. Her mouth dropped open as the pile of Howlers grew, and then the first exploded.

 _HERMIONE GRANGER, YOU ARE A DISGRACE TO THE WIZARDING WORLD! I ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU WERE A WONDERFUL ROLE MODEL FOR MY DAUGHTER BUT NOW I KNOW BETTER! HOW CAN YOU LET A DEATH EATER INTO YOUR HOUSE! DO YOU HAVE NO SENSE OF JUSTICE?_

And another one started yelling over the first, and then a third and fourth.

… _STUPID SLAG…_

… _FILTHY DEATH EATER WHORE…_

… _IDIOT MUDBLOOD…_

… _SAVE VOLDEMORT HIMSELF…_

… _SILLY MUGGLEBORNS, TARNISHING WIZARDING CULTURE…_

… _MORE BOTHERED ABOUT HOUSE ELVES THAN THOSE WHO SUFFERED IN THE WAR…_

… _DEATH EATER LOVER…_

Hermione just sat there, staring, unable to move and stop the screaming voices. She barely noticed Draco coming up to her, grabbing the wand from her hand and aiming an _incendio_ at the remaining letters. Hot flames rushed out of the tip of the vine wand, incinerating the red envelopes and latching onto the bed in seconds. He managed to put out the fire bare moments before the fire alarm in the flat started wailing, but it was too late to save his bed. Draco put a hand on Hermione's shoulder and squeezed.

"Are you ok?"

Hermione turned her head slowly in his direction, and opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She took a deep breath instead, and nodded. Draco closed the window and returned her wand to her.

"I'm sorry for borrowing your wand like that, but you looked like you were hit by a stupefy just now, I thought it would be best to get rid of that... nuisance."

Hermione nodded again, then sighed wearily.

"I should have expected it. I'll add some wards to redirect any correspondence from people I don't know to the Ministry. My assistant can deal with it."

Then she looked up at him, realised he only wore a towel around his waist and looked down at the table with a hot flush on her cheeks.

"Thanks. Sorry to disturb your shower."

Draco only snorted and went back to the bathroom.

* * *

They were quiet during breakfast, but the silence made Draco antsy.

"I think I ruined your sofa," he remarked casually, pointing at the remains of the half-burned bed.

Hermione shook her head, mouth turned down in disapproval.

"I thought you'd be able to handle a simple _incendio_."

Draco shrugged, biting back his temper.

"I can, but I haven't used a lot of magic in the past five years, and I wasn't using my own wand, so it's no big surprise the spell was a little off. Although, it _is_ rare that the spell is stronger than intended. Usually it's harder to cast with someone else's wand."

Hermione didn't comment, her eyes straying to the charred lump in her living room.

"Hermione?"

She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.

"Maybe you shouldn't go into work today"

"What? Why?"

Draco shrugged, not sure what to say.

"I'm not running away from this," Hermione said sharply.

"I'm not telling you to run away, I'm just suggesting you may want to take some time off. You had a massive fight with the Weas… I mean, Weasley. You've just gotten a pile of Howlers over breakfast and you were too stunned to deal with them. This isn't about running away, more like… I don't know, temporary retreat so you can come back stronger?"

She scoffed.

"I'm not going to be hiding in my flat because some people think I'm a slag. They've said and written a lot worse than this, I can handle it." She waved her hand dismissively at the charred lump. "That was nothing. Really."

"Didn't look you thought it was nothing," he muttered. She chose to ignore it.

"I should get going. You'll be ok today?"

"I'm not the one facing the banshees."

She chuckled but didn't respond.

* * *

Draco felt like he had only just made himself comfortable in the armchair for a nap and drifted off when the fire roared to life, and Hermione stomped out, her lips pressed together in a tight line and her hands clenched in fists. He sat up, trying to shake off the drowsiness that had overtaken him.

"What's wrong?"

Hermione huffed and stomped around the kitchen, opening cabinets and slamming them closed. She banged a mug on the counter, so forceful the ear cracked. She let out an exasperated cry, and plopped down on a chair.

"He sent me home! Said my presence was interrupting the normal operations of the Department. Said the staff wasn't equipped to deal with all my fan mail. That it might be better if I don't show my face in the office for the rest of the week. I can't believe he sent me away, like a naughty child being sent to her room. Like it's my bloody fault those idiots send Howlers and envelopes filled with bubotuber pus!"

Draco squinted at her.

"Shouldn't you be happy you have a couple of days off?"

She blinked, astonished.

"But… But my job! My boss sent me home! For no reason at all! And what about the Werewolf law I've been drafting? And who's going to prepare the raids if I'm not there? And why should I go home anyway, I didn't do anything wrong!"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure they can manage without you for a few days, Granger."

She huffed again.

"At least now you have time to buy a new sofa," he said, trying to be practical. She scowled even harder.

"I just don't understand why anyone thinks it's their business to comment on what I do. Where the hell do they get off sending me Howlers and disrupting my work?"

Draco stopped listening as she ranted on, closing his eyes and drifting off again. Two almost-sleepless nights really did take a toll. He jolted awake when she hit his arm.

"Are you sleeping?" Her voice was shrill in his ears.

"Not any more," he grumbled.

Hermione didn't know how to respond to that. She drew a deep breath as if to say something, and then just slapped his arm again.

"Ouch, woman, keep your violent tendencies to yourself," Draco snapped.

"I was talking to you and you, you fell asleep."

"You were talking AT me, droning on and on about work and those petty idiots thinking they can tell you to live your life. Seriously, Hermione, I thought you said you knew how to deal with this. If you want this to stop, I can leave, you can drop that silly plan to take my case to the Wizengamot for appeal and just go back to your normal life, saving abused house elves, nagging someone else's ear off and forgetting all about me. Or you can just stop caring about what random strangers think, and do whatever you want. So your boss sent you home for the rest of the week, just take it, stop whinging, have a bloody holiday. Honestly, you must be the only person in the world who would complain about some unexpected days off."

He closed his eyes again, snuggling more comfortably into the armchair, but he didn't fall asleep again.

Hermione started laughing, first a quiet chuckle, but then louder and louder until she was doubled over and roaring with laughter, one hand leaning on the armrest to support her. Draco's eyes flew open and he watched her in amazement. He'd seen many sides of Hermione in the past few days but never this carefree - almost manic - laughter.

She finally subsided and sat down on the floor, her back against the side of the armchair, her left arm clasping her side and the right hand wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked tentatively, wondering if the woman had completely lost the plot now, and if he would manage to get her wand away from her before she did something stupid. Or painful.

"I need a new sofa," she said, laughing again.

"Yes, you do." He knew from experience it was always better to agree with insanity.

She took a deep breath, then turned her head up to look at him.

"Thank you, Draco, I needed that. Sorry for the ranting. You're right, I shouldn't care. I don't care. Let's go buy a sofa, then."

She jumped up, whipped out her wand and vanished the charred lump from her living room. Then she turned around and held out her hand.

"You want me to come along?"

"Why not? We probably need to get you some more clothes, I'm sure you'd prefer to be rid of Harry's old clothes."

Draco swallowed. "There's no need…"

"Of course there is. I know how you feel about hand-me-downs, after all, it's not like you didn't proclaim your opinions at the top of your voice for years." She smiled at him to soften her statement, but he recoiled, his mouth a thin line and his eyes cold.

"I'm not that person any more. I was an idiot. I'm perfectly fine with what I have."

Hermione reached out and put her hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry. I was teasing, I didn't mean… I know you're not… Look, you need some clothes that actually fit, and decent robes for when we face the Wizengamot. You can't actually appear before them in shabby jeans or sweatpants, Draco."

"I can't afford it." He looked away, blushing furiously.

"So pay me back when you've got access to your vaults again. Now stop whinging." She smirked at him. "My boss sent me home, you told me to treat it like a holiday, and I feel like shopping. So we're going shopping. Come on." She grabbed his hand and dragged him along to the front door.

"But where are we going to get robes? You're not seriously suggesting we go to Diagon Alley, do you?"

"No, of course not. We can go to another town with a Wizarding district." She tossed his cloak at him and wrapped her own around her shoulders.

"We could go to Cardiff, there's an entrance to the Wizarding shops in the Queen's Gallery. Or Edinburgh. Or maybe Bath? I haven't been there in a while."

Draco lost what little colour he had.

"Not Bath. Anywhere but Bath. I can't go back there," he said.

"Why?" Hermione looked puzzled. She loved the Georgian town, it had some lovely Muggle shops and a thriving Magical community.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Granger. Don't tell me geography is the one thing you never bothered to study. You can't expect me to go so near my childhood home, to a town with so many memories. Surely you're not that cruel?"

He turned away, fiddling with his buttons and trying to ignore the confused witch by his side.

"Oh. I didn't think about that. So, not Bath, then. Edinburgh? That's about as far away from Wiltshire you can get without actually leaving the country."

"Hm. Better cast an Impervius on us before we leave. Weather's bound to be beastly this time of year."

* * *

During their shopping trip in Edinburgh, Draco learned that Hermione had five different glares. There was the defiant glare that was fixed on her face as they walked through Edinburgh's Magic Alley, challenging anyone who looked at them askance to say anything at all. There was the angry glare she sent the other customers in the robes shop when they muttered something about death eaters, not quite under their breath. And then there was the don't-you-dare-mess-with-me-I'm-a-fucking-War-heroine glare she sent at the shop owner, Monsieur Maurice, when he refused to serve Draco.

She sent Draco a lot of exasperated glares, whenever he complained that she was making him wear atrocious colours like red, or yellow, or - Merlin forbid - Chudley Cannons orange. And she had an annoyed glare she saved especially for the times he referred to her friends as Scarhead, Weasel and She-Weasel.

She also had seven different smiles. There was the cold, disdainful smile that curved her lips right after she had glared Monsieur Maurice into compliance. There was the polite, slightly uncomfortable smile that didn't quite reach her eyes she gave people who came up to her and asked for an autograph. She had a teasing smile that made her eyes twinkle with mischief whenever she suggested clothes she knew he would find outrageous, and a sly smile that stole over her face when she thought she'd won their arguments. She talked about Harry or Ginny with a relaxed smile that spoke of years of comfortable and close friendship, and then there was the delighted smile she sent him over a steaming mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream and mini marshmallows, tinged with happy anticipation.

And then there was a smile he only noticed once, when he came out of the changing rooms after she'd made him try on a blue shirt, and the sales assistant had said something in her ear that made her blush. He wasn't sure what to make of that smile, it seemed shy and wistful, but when he asked what the woman had said to her, she just shrugged and shook her head.

* * *

"Do we really have to go?"

"Yes, we do. They invited us. BOTH of us."

"But it's Potter, you can't seriously expect me to have dinner with Potter?"

"Draco, for Merlin's sake, you manage to have breakfast, lunch and dinner with me perfectly fine, what makes Harry so different?"

"It's _Potter_."

Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Stop acting like such a child! Honestly, Draco, did you lose all your Slytherin cunning in these past years? If you can't be civil for me, then at least do it for yourself. Have dinner with Harry and Ginny, try not to antagonize them and maybe he'll testify for you at the appeal as well. Don't you think having the support of the Chosen One will help your case? So suck it up, stop that ridiculous behaviour and get out of the bloody bathroom before I blast that door open."

Draco finally opened the bathroom door, a frown on his face.

"Wouldn't he testify just because you ask him?"

"He already testified for you once, and if you want to make sure he does it again, you'll have to ask him. Politely." Hermione avoided his eyes, hoping he wouldn't notice that she hadn't really answered him. Of course Harry would testify just for her, but for some reason she really wanted this dinner to go well for the four of them. She wanted Draco on his best behaviour, so Harry and Ginny could see he had changed.

"Fine. I'm ready, let's just get this over with."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She held out her arm.

"We're apparating."

Draco made a face, but put his hand in the crook of her arm. Hermione focused on Harry's house and turned on her heel.

The sensation was even more unpleasant than Draco remembered, and, embarrassingly, he almost retched up his afternoon tea and biscuits. He had to take a couple of deep breaths to keep it all down.

"Are you ok?" Hermione asked, holding onto his arm with a surprisingly strong grip.

"Fine," he said through clenched teeth. When he finally felt in control of his stomach again, he straightened up, looking everywhere but at her. "Just been a while. Always hated side-along. Where are we?"

They were standing at the edge of a small park in the middle of a square, looking at a row of town houses. Hermione handed him a scrap of paper. He folded it open and read ' _Harry Potter lives at 12 Grimmauld Place_ ', written in an almost illegible scrawl. His eyes flitted from the number 11 on the left to the number 13 right next to it, and he understood immediately.

"Fidelius Charm," Hermione explained. "Harry had too much trouble with people harassing him after the war. He didn't really want to live at Grimmauld Place, but it had the best protection, and until the house in Godric's Hollow is rebuilt, he's living here."

As Hermione spoke, number 11 and 13 started to move away from each other, and with a loud crunch and the unsettling sound of stone gritting on stone, number 12 emerged. As soon as the facade had fully formed, the front door opened and Harry stepped out.

"Are you two just going to stand there or are you coming in?"

Hermione ran up the stairs and threw her arms around Harry.

"Good to see you again, Harry."

Harry chuckled and returned the embrace. "It's only been a few days, Hermione."

She leaned back and laughed up at him.

"Feels like forever."

"Well, Ginny's in the kitchen. She's been impatient to see you."

He pushed her in and turned to follow.

"Well, Malfoy? In or out?" he called over his shoulder.

Draco clenched one of his fists behind his back, the fingernails digging into his palm. His face was a mask of indifference as he walked sedately up the stairs and followed Harry Potter into the house he now recognised as the ancestral home of the Blacks. He had vague memories of accompanying his mother to visit his Great-Aunt Walburga here and shuddered. The shrunken house elf heads had given him nightmares for weeks.

Draco followed Potter through the hallway and down some steps into the kitchen. Then Potter turned around and held out his hand.

"Welcome to Grimmauld Place, Malfoy."

Draco stared at the hand. For one second he contemplated retorting that he was half Black and had more claim to this house than Potter ever could have, but then he saw Hermione look at him apprehensively, and he stopped himself. He shook Potter's hand instead, and from the other man's uncertain smile, he knew he wasn't the only one who thought of that awkward meeting in the Hogwarts Express, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Very kind of you to invite me," Draco said instead, with the cold politeness that was his second nature. He then turned to Ginny Weasley, and extended his hand to her. She looked at him suspiciously, but shook his hand quickly.

"No qualms about touching a blood traitor, then?"

Draco didn't notice the panicked looks that passed between Hermione and Potter, but focused on the fiery redhead before him.

"It's been a long time since I thought like that, Miss Weasley. Or is it Mrs. Potter now? I'm afraid they don't allow the Daily Prophet in Azkaban and I haven't had time to read up on four years of gossip columns since my release." His voice was deceptively calm, but the hand behind his back clenched into a fist once again.

Ginny huffed and turned away.

"I need to check on the roast. Go sit in the parlour or something, you'll only be in the way here. I'll call you when dinner is ready."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her back but didn't say anything. He was a guest in their house, after all, and, as Hermione had reminded him, he really should try to stay in Potter's good graces. So if that meant not angering the Weaselette, then that's what he would try to do.

Hermione stepped up to him with a strained smile and motioned for him to follow Harry into the parlour.

He stopped dead in the middle of the room, causing Hermione to bump into him, and looked around. He recognised the fireplace at once, but the pokers used to stand in a troll leg, and the old, uncomfortable bench and hard-backed chairs had been replaced with a set of squishy burgundy sofa and armchairs. The drab, heavy curtains had been replaced with white blinds and the black-and-green baroque wallpaper had been whitewashed, so the pattern was still visible but the colours had faded.

"I like what you've done with the place," he said.

Potter chuckled. "Couldn't have made it much worse than it was."

"Oh, I don't know. Aunt Walburga had a thing for the dungeon theme for a while. Chains hanging from the ceilings and torches ensconced in the walls. Quite charming. She did grow soft in those last years."

Potter made a sound of disgust and then gestured at the drinks on the dresser.

"Butterbeer before dinner? Or would you prefer something stronger?"

"I have a feeling I might need something stronger. Is that a bottle of Ogden's?

Potter nodded and poured two Firewhiskeys. Hermione declined. Just as the men sat down, Hermione darted to the door.

"I'm going to see if Ginny needs help. I'll leave you two boys to bond over drinks," she said before she disappeared into the corridor.

Draco stared uncomfortably at the tumbler of Firewhiskey in his hand, then at the fireplace, the dresser, the strange artwork up on the walls, anywhere but Harry Potter.

"Soooo," said Potter, sounding about as ill at ease as Draco felt.

* * *

 _ **Thank you for all your reviews and encouragements!**_


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: My gosh, it took ages to get this chapter out. So sorry! Hopefully I'm back to my normal schedule now. Thank you for your lovely reviews and your patience!**

 **TW: (Not very detailed) description of assault in the first part - not between any of our main characters. Please skip to the next line if this is something that might bother you.**

* * *

Hermione watched Ginny from the doorway as she was opening and closing the kitchen cabinets with unnecessary force, a scowl on her face.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked.

Ginny whirled around, brandishing a wooden spoon that pointed straight at Hermione, who tried not to flinch as the gravy dripped onto the flagstone floor.

"Me? What's gotten into me? How can you ask me that? What's gotten into you? How can you bring Malfoy here after everything? Years of calling you that vile word, and you just take him in?" she spat.

"Harry invited him."

Ginny's face didn't soften. She narrowed her eyes, pressed her lips together and turned back to the stove, shaking her head.

Hermione sighed wearily and stepped into the kitchen.

"Ginny, a lot of time has passed since then. We can't stay hung up on the past if we want to move on."

The redhead just kept shaking her head, vigorously stirring the gravy.

"I thought I could do this," she snapped. "When Harry told me, I really did think... but seeing him here, it just reminds me of his father and that diary and…" Ginny took a deep breath.

Hermione crossed the space between them and hugged Ginny close. She was clearly still angry but Hermione could hear the distress in her voice.

"I'm sorry. I know. But Draco isn't his father, Gin. Lucius Malfoy is rotting in Azkaban for his crimes, and he won't get out. You can't blame Draco for his father's actions."

"I just don't understand, 'Mione. I mean, giving the guy a place to sleep off his hangover is one thing, but offering him a place to stay... And Harry tells me you're going to fight the Wizengamot for him. Why would you do that? You hated him! For years and years you hated him. Why would you fight with Ron, who was your best friend for years, over a guy you loathed?"

Hermione tightened her arms around Ginny once and then let go.

"I think that fight with Ron was going to happen anyway, Gin, that wasn't Draco's fault. He was just… the catalyst, if you will. If it hadn't been Draco, something else would have set it off. So don't blame him for that. As to the Wizengamot... I'll tell you but this isn't easy. I never told anyone but the Mind Healer I saw a few years ago. So please don't interrupt. Don't ask questions. Just listen." She leaned against the table, her hands gripping the edges and her eyes fixed on the floor. Ginny turned to face her, arms crossed and face still an angry scowl.

"You know he refused to identify us that time at the Manor. And he told Crabbe and Goyle not to kill us in the Room of Requirement."

"He still wanted to give Harry to Voldemort."

"I know, Gin, but I'm not sure we would have survived had he not stopped those two. We almost didn't survive anyway, but his hesitation gave us the time to distract them, to fight and survive. He wasn't the one who started the Fiendfyre. And we testified as such during his trial. But during the Final Battle he did something else. Something I couldn't talk about at the time. I don't know why he never brought it up himself, but I just couldn't…"

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her fingers were digging into the table but she hardly noticed the pain.

"You see, during the second half of the Battle, Ron and I were attacked in the third floor corridor. No other Order members about. Ron was Stunned and I'd lost my wand. And Greyback…"

Hermione bit her lip and closed her eyes, trying to compose herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, and counted her breaths. Four counts in, five counts out.

"He had me down on the floor. I was trapped, I couldn't move." She paused, the ghost of a smile flitting over her face. "It's funny, you know. In the thick of the battle, with hexes and curses flying every which way, I wasn't scared, not really. I didn't think, I just acted, threw up protective shields and sent a whole array of hexes and jinxes back. But there, I could only feel fear. I couldn't move a muscle, couldn't get away. He whispered all these vile things in my ear, how I wouldn't escape him this time, how he'd have his fun with me, and he tore my clothes and his hands were just everywhere… And then he was gone. Slammed into a wall, stunned and bound. My clothes repaired before I realised what was going on and the scratches healed." Ginny pressed her hands against her mouth with a horrified gasp.

"And it was him, Gin. He's the one who saved me. He found my wand, put it in my hands, pulled me up and pushed me back towards the battle. _You have to end this, Granger,_ he said. _You have to fight. You have to win_. And he revived Ron and slipped away before I could say anything."

She gave Ginny a pleading look. "Do you understand now? I owe him so much. And I couldn't say it at his trial. The words just didn't come, got stuck in my throat and suffocated me every time I tried. And everyone just assumed I'd defeated Greyback, and I couldn't deny it, because then I'd have to explain, and I just couldn't."

Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione, who stiffened for a moment at the unexpected contact.

"It's okay. I understand," Ginny murmured soothingly. They stood together in silence for a long time. Then the smell of burnt gravy made Ginny curse. They glanced at each other and began to laugh, the heavy mood finally lifting.

"Wash that mouth, Ginevra Potter. What would your mother say," Hermione saidwith an amused smile.

Ginny shrugged and with a swish of her wand, the gravy disappeared.

"Better hope that roast isn't too dry." Then she studied Hermione.

"You okay?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'll be fine in a minute, really. I've learned to deal with it. Don't worry. But you see now, don't you? So can you give him a break, Gin? Please?"

Ginny took both of Hermione's hands in hers and squeezed.

"Fine, I'll give him a chance. But one comment about mudbloods or blood traitors and he's out."

"He won't. He hasn't said either of those words since I met him again. He's not the boy we knew at Hogwarts."

Ginny hummed, and scratched her chin pensively.

"Do you think mustard sauce would work with the roast? I can whip that up in no time."

She set to work mixing the mustard and cream, and asked, off-handedly, "So what's it like, then, sharing that little flat of yours with the Ferret?"

Hermione chuckled.

"It's… I don't know. Different? It was very frustrating at first, you know. Almost like he expected me to cater to his every whim, as if he was doing me a favour by staying."

"Still a stuck-up prat, then."

"I guess. Most of it was probably more because he felt so uncomfortable in a Muggle flat. Oh, Gin, don't look at me like that. Remember what you and Ron were like when you first visited? That weird fascination with electricity and my kitchen appliances?"

Both women giggled at the memory.

"We sort of found a balance, though. He can be such a git, he's always arguing and snarky, but then he'll do something nice or make me laugh…" Hermione smiled softly and stared out the kitchen window into the darkness of the night, thinking of the afternoon they'd spent in Edinburgh and how she had enjoyed his company. Ginny snorted.

"Sweet Morgana! You like him."

Hermione's eyes snapped back at her.

"What?"

"You do. You _like_ him, don't you?"

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Hermione felt a hot blush spread over her cheeks.

"Not like that, Gin! Honestly, where you get those outlandish ideas, I'll never know."

Ginny smirked at her.

"If you say so." But the tone in her voice made it clear she didn't believe Hermione at all.

"Well, food's ready. Can you get the boys?"

Hermione fled the kitchen with a barely suppressed sigh of relief.

* * *

Draco looked at Harry expectantly, but he didn't say anything else. They sat staring at each other and sipping their Firewhiskey in uncomfortable silence, which was only interrupted by the occasional muffled banging of kitchen cabinet doors.

"So," Draco repeated, at a loss for what to say, but anxious to break the silence.

Potter stared into the fireplace, occasionally sipping his Firewhiskey. Then he suddenly turned to Draco, his green eyes searching the other man's face. Draco tried to remain impassive under the scrutiny, his hand tightening around the tumbler of Firewhiskey the only sign of discomfort. And still Potter said nothing.

"How did you end up with this old haunt, then?" Draco asked, hoping the house was a safe topic of conversation. It wasn't. Potter's eyes narrowed and his mouth was pressed in a thin line. Draco didn't think he'd answer, and tried to find something else, something safer to talk about.

"Sirius Black was my godfather. He left the house to me in his will."

Potter spoke so low Draco almost didn't hear him.

"Yes, I remember now."

They were quiet again, and Draco wondered if Potter simply felt as awkward about this whole situation as he did, or if it was some kind of Auror trick to be quiet and get a suspect talking. He remembered his mother had used that technique quite often when he was a child.

Draco leaned back and tried - and failed - to pretend he was feeling at ease. After another sip of the burning alcohol, he decided to speak again. _I should at least try to get on his good side._

"So what about you and…" he trailed off. He couldn't call her Weaselette - that would probably anger Potter - and he couldn't call her Ginny - they weren't on such terms. So he settled for a gesture towards the kitchen.

"Married last summer."

"Should I congratulate you or give you my condolences?"

The words left his mouth before he could stop them, and he looked down and sipped his Firewhiskey again to hide his embarrassment. _Way to get in his good books, Draco_.

Potter looked at him with a curious expression, and then burst out laughing.

Draco was a little reassured by that reaction, although he didn't think it was _that_ funny either.

"Ron said the same to me when I told him I'd proposed to Ginny," Potter explained.

Draco allowed himself a small smile, relieved that his comment was understood as the joke it was intended to be, and not some malicious comment disparaging his choice.

He wasn't quite sure if being lumped together with Ronald Weasley was a good thing, but coming from Potter it probably was. Draco wondered if he should continue on the subject of marriage, but before he could think of another question, Potter interrupted his thoughts.

"Why did you lie?"

The question rang through the room and seemed to echo off the walls. Draco considered pretending he had no idea what Potter was speaking about, but they both knew better.

"I never asked, not after the Battle, not at your trial. I just testified. But I want to know, Malfoy. Why did you lie? You knew it was us."

Draco put his tumbler of Firewhiskey away and clasped his hands together. His eyes traced the grain of the hardwood floor.

"I knew what would happen if I'd confirmed it was you. And I just couldn't. I couldn't. I wanted Him gone and I knew you were the only option. I tried to buy you time. I had no idea how or even if it would help, but I just thought… It's Potter. I couldn't let them kill you. I didn't want that on my head."

"And Hermione?"

Draco swallowed, still avoiding Potter's eyes.

"What about her?"

"Why did you let your aunt torture her?"

Draco closed his eyes, and for one moment he was back, back in the drawing room of his old home, Hermione writhing and screaming in front of him. Then he opened them again and looked up at Harry.

"What do you suggest I'd have done? Just me against my aunt and my parents?" He shook his head.

"You could have tried to stop her." Green eyes stared into grey ones accusingly.

"What do you want me to say, Potter?" Draco spat, jumping up. Trust Potter to hit the one weak spot in his armour, his self-loathing over his actions - or lack thereof - during the War. "Yes, I was a coward. I didn't want any of that to happen, but I didn't do anything to stop it. I never did anything to stop it. I just tried to get through the day and hoped the next one would be better. I wanted to stop her. But I knew I'd be killed on the spot, and I wanted to live. So I let her."

"Some things are worth dying for," Harry said, quietly.

Draco took a deep breath. His fists clenched and unclenched unconsciously. Then he sat back down with a deep sigh. He rubbed both hands over his face, trying to regain his composure.

"I know that now."

* * *

Harry could see Malfoy felt horrible, but he wasn't quite sure whether it was guilt or shame. Then Malfoy surprised him by looking him straight in the eyes.

"I apologised to Hermione, and she accepted my apology. Since that particular… episode… really is between me and her, I would appreciate it if you don't bring it up again. Please."

Harry twisted his lips but nodded. If Hermione really had forgiven Malfoy, he wouldn't be the one to rehash the past. He tried to forget about the War as much as possible. But there was one more thing he needed to ask before he really could let go.

"What about the Room of Requirement? You wanted to capture me and hand me over to Voldemort."

Harry observed Malfoy's uncomfortable shifting in his seat.

"Crabbe and Goyle wanted to kill you."

"I remember. But you still wanted to hand me over."

"Yes. It had to end. One way or another, it had to end. And I knew it was between the two of you. I thought taking you to him would stop… I won't lie to you, Potter. If I'd had a chance I probably would have handed you over. If the Dark Lord had won, that would have reinstated my family in his good graces. If you'd managed to vanquish him after all, at least he'd be gone. Either way, my mother would have been safe from him."

Harry felt a surge of irrational anger at his cold words, but he tried to suppress the emotions. Then Malfoy looked up at him again.

"I'm glad you won, Potter. I wish I hadn't had to live through the horrors of that war and years in Azkaban to know better. But I did, and I do know better now. I won't make those mistakes again."

He rubbed his left forearm, the Dark Mark that marred his skin suddenly itching. Harry's eyes followed the movement and then snapped back up to Malfoy's face. He'd never seen that face so open and vulnerable. He could see the regret, the understanding, the pain behind those grey eyes. Eyes that reminded him of Sirius, another man broken by years in Azkaban and abandoned by Wizarding society. Harry shivered and promised himself that he really would give Malfoy a chance.

"We were all just kids, caught in someone else's game," Harry mused. Then he shuddered, as if to push away those maudlin thoughts. "That's enough about the past. It's behind us now. I try to forget about the War as much as possible. Still have nightmares."

"You're not the only one."

They exchanged a look, and Harry smiled. His admission had slipped out of his mouth before he'd realised, but Malfoy hadn't mocked him, like he'd expected. In fact, he'd reciprocated. It felt strangely intimate after the heavy talk they'd just had.

"So what are your plans once 'Mione gets you reinstated in the Wizarding world?"

Malfoy seemed to stiffen, his face closing up again into an inscrutable mask.

"I haven't thought about it. Seems early days. I'll take it as it comes"

Harry let out a short laugh. "Hermione never fails, Malfoy. She's tenacious and determined, and nothing will stop her. Believe me, you'll be a Wizard again before long."

"We'll see." Malfoy clearly felt uncomfortable, and Harry smiled reassuringly.

"You know, once, in fourth year, she tried to liberate the house elves, knitting hats and socks and running after them trying to give them clothes."

Harry chuckled at the memory, and Malfoy cracked a smile at the mental image he'd conjured up.

"I'm not a house elf, though."

"No. If you were, you'd be free now, since she's given you clothes… I just wanted to say, she won't give up. So make a plan for the future, yeah? You don't want to live off her charity forever."

Malfoy nodded, but Harry thought he didn't look quite convinced yet. He wanted to say something else, but then Hermione bounded into the room and told them dinner was ready.

* * *

Ginny, Harry and Hermione kept the conversation going between them, while Draco was quiet and lost in thoughts. He couldn't really join in when they talked about mutual friends or anything that was happening at the Ministry, anyway. He let his thoughts wander, going over the conversation he'd had with Potter. He didn't regret anything he'd said, he had long come to terms with the fact that he had made huge mistakes, and that the decisions he'd made as a teenager wouldn't be the decisions he'd make as an adult. It had been interesting to talk to Potter without insults flying. Then his eyes wandered over to Hermione, who was sitting next to him. She laughed and talked as if nothing was wrong, but he noticed her shoulders were stiff, and her smile strained. Clearly the women's heart to heart had been as dismal as his own conversation with Potter.

"So Malfoy, what did you get up to after they released you from Azkaban?"

Draco blinked and looked at the Weaselette - no, Potterette now. _Ugh_. He'd have to find another nickname for her, really. He wondered if it would be worth lying or deflecting the question, but he had a feeling subtlety would be lost on these Gryffindors. He swallowed.

"Hasn't Hermione told you?"

Red - yes he could call her Red - shook her head and even Potter looked interested.

"You don't have to tell them," Hermione whispered, quite loud enough for the other two to notice and become even more curious. Draco shrugged, deciding he might as well tell the truth. It was humiliating, but maybe it'd ensure their support at the Wizengamot hearing?

"Lived on the streets for a couple of months. Blaise found me after a few weeks, but he couldn't really help. Gave me some money, I tried to get by. One night I overheard two Muggles talk about shelters where you could sleep in a bed, take a shower and get a hot meal. Good thing, too, because it was still very cold out. That kept me alive, I suppose."

He shrugged again, and looked at his plate, his mouth twitching with discomfort at the sudden pity in the Potters' eyes.

"Delicious meal, by the way. What about you, Mrs. Potter? What have you been doing in these past five years?" He almost cringed at the clearly fake-bright tone of his voice, but he really didn't want to discuss it all in more detail. Red seemed to take the hint, because after a short pause, she answered: "I'm a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies."

Draco's head snapped back up, a look of disbelief crossing his face. He tilted his head to the side and studied her, but before she could take offence at his reaction, he smiled at her and said: "You always were a very good Quidditch player. How are the Harpies doing this season?"

* * *

Hermione let out a sigh of relief when the conversation turned to Quidditch. She couldn't really join in, but she didn't care. At least this was something Draco could talk about with Harry and Ginny. Although Draco obviously wasn't up to date on the latest Quidditch news, he could ask questions and listened with interest to the discussions between Harry and Ginny about the latest Tornadoes vs. Cannons game. She smiled as she saw his face come alive, his grey eyes shimmering silver and his cheeks tinged pink with pleasure to be hearing about his favourite sport once again. Then she heard Ginny's voice in her head, accusing her of liking him, and her eyes snapped to her plate. She did like him, but not romantically. Surely not? He was fun to hang out with, they got along well enough, and, well, even though he still looked thin and pointy, not that bad to look at. _Where did that thought come from? Oh Merlin..._

"Hey, 'Mione, did you have any plans for Saturday?"

Hermione dragged her attention back to the conversation.

"Not really. Why?"

"We're playing against the Quiberon Quafflepunchers who are on a tour of Britain. I was just saying to Malfoy I can get you guys tickets, but he said maybe you had plans."

Hermione looked from Ginny to Draco, whose face was unhelpfully impassive. She wasn't sure if that meant he really didn't want to go, but thought it might be rude to decline, or if he really wanted to go, but didn't want to impose on her. His eyes gave nothing away.

"How about I get back to you on that one?" Hermione said, smiling at Ginny. "If we get a date for the retrial, we may need the time to prepare."

Ginny nodded, and started to clear away the plates, since everyone had finished. Draco got up to help her, and Hermione walked over to Harry, who was seated on the other side of the table. She sat down next to him and leaned into his side, and he automatically wrapped his arms around her.

"You okay?"

Hermione nodded, but the smile on her lips didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Need to talk?"

"No, just a hug."

"That I can do," Harry smiled, and he tightened his arms around her waist and shoulders.

* * *

Malfoy eyed the two friends from the other side of the kitchen. Ginny followed his stare and grinned at the flash of anger in his eyes. _Maybe this new Malfoy isn't quite indifferent to our Hermione after all._

She stepped closer to Malfoy, her chin barely reaching his shoulders, and whispered in his ear: "You'll have to get used to that if you want to be in Hermione's life, you know."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Ginny noticed the flinch that betrayed he hadn't really wanted to ask that question.

"Hermione is the sister Harry never had. Not that I would start hugging my brothers when I feel a little down, but then I had six, so I'm not that close to any of them. Harry and Hermione, they were both only children, and they found the sibling they always wanted in each other. They are like this sometimes. It doesn't bother me, because I know how much they care for each other."

Malfoy looked confused, so she explained.

"They do love each other, but as siblings. It's never going to be more than that." Then she paused, mischief glinting in her eyes.

"Does it bother you?" she asked.

Malfoy turned an interesting shade of red, then moved abruptly away. He stared at the kitchen window in dead silence, and Ginny snickered while she finished up cleaning.

* * *

They finally prepared to leave. Draco was waiting for Hermione by the door, as she said her lengthy goodbyes to Potter and Red. He was fidgeting, anxious to get back to their flat. His eyes darted across the corridor. Then he noticed something, and he started moving before he'd realised what he was doing. His fingers stroked along the sleek and smooth shaft of a broomstick, and he could feel the magic vibrate under his fingers. He admired the crafted handle and the aerodynamic seat, and would have stroked each bristle in turn, if Red hadn't come up to him just then.

"It's a Nimbus Lightning," she said.

He hummed but didn't answer. The thrum of magic, the memories of flying, at Hogwarts, at home… He swallowed thickly.

"Do you still fly?"

"When would I have done that? Muggle brooms aren't built to fly, and Granger lives in the middle of Muggle London. And I can promise you, they don't give you brooms for recreation in Azkaban."

She had the decency to look embarrassed.

"You could try one of our brooms after the game on Saturday. Or you could join Harry to one of his games in his hobby league. They're always looking for new people."

Draco kept his eyes trained on the broom. It was too tempting.

"I can't. But thank you for offering."

He snatched his hand away as if it was burned, and turned away quickly. He didn't want to see the look in either Potter or Red's eyes, and kept his gaze on the floor. He barely noticed that Hermione put her arm through his and walked them out of 12 Grimmauld Place. The disapparition took him by surprise.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks everyone for your kind reviews! So sorry this took so long but March was apparently a bad month. You'll be happy to hear most of the next chapter is written so you won't have to wait another month for an update...  
**

* * *

Hermione hated feeling confused. She liked to think she could accurately predict her own reaction to any given situation - apart from her nightmares. She liked being in control. What she did not like were feelings that made no sense at all. Ever since the dinner with Harry and Ginny, she was confused. And she didn't know why.

 _You like him, don't you?_

Draco had been exceptionally quiet after they'd gotten back home, but the next day he seemed his usual self again, so it couldn't be his behaviour that confused her. They'd laughed and joked, argued and yelled, just like before the dinner. They'd gone over the verdict in Draco's trial together and discussed what exactly they wanted from the Wizengamot session. Hermione had been impressed when he suggested asking for more than they'd reasonably allow, just to have some negotiation space. He didn't particularly want the Manor back, or the entire Malfoy fortune. He only really wanted a wand, and the right to move freely among wizards once more. He'd told her he missed doing magic, and he never felt more truly alive than when he was using her wand.

 _You like him, don't you?_

It was Sunday now, and Harry had shown up unexpectedly and dragged Draco off to some remote field to fly. She'd shoved him out the door faster than he could say Quidditch and locked it behind him. She tried to tell herself she enjoyed having the flat to herself again, but it seemed too quiet now, too empty. She had made herself comfortable on her new sofa, the latest issue of _Advances in Transfiguration_ open on her lap, but she was distracted by the scent that rose from the cushions every time she moved. Apples, and the pine and mint of his shampoo, and something that was undeniably just… Draco.

 _You like him, don't you?_

And every time she thought of him, every time she noticed his smile or met his eyes, she could hear Ginny whisper in her ear… _You like him, don't you?_ And that's why she was so confused, really. Until Ginny said that, it had never occurred to her that she might like Draco as anything more than a… Was he even a friend? They had only been on speaking terms for such a short time, it was sometimes still strange to think of him as anything other than the bully of their Hogwarts years.

 _You like him, don't you?_

Hermione tossed the magazine away with a disappointed sigh, and snuggled deeper into the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest and her head resting on her knees. The last two days had been frustrating, but it was different from those first few days. He didn't do anything to irritate her, as such, but now she was just… aware of him. Of the way his grey eyes sparkled just before he'd say something he knew she'd react against. Of the way his mouth quirked in a half-smile when she tried to explain anything Muggle to him, not derisive, but encouraging and fascinated. Or the way he enjoyed doing the most basic spells, like _Accio_ or _Evanesco_ , after cautiously asking her permission to use her wand, even though she'd told him again and again that he didn't have to ask.

 _You like him, don't you?_

She did like him, she realised that now. The problem was, though, did she like him because Ginny put the idea into her head, or had it been growing since she ran into him in Regent Street? Or even before that? Did it even matter? She groaned and hugged her knees closer.

* * *

The wind bit into his ears and nose, his watering eyes clouded his vision and his fingers were almost freezing off, but Draco hadn't felt so light and carefree since his last Quidditch match in fifth year. The Nimbus Lightning Potter had brought for him reacted to his lightest touch, up and down, left and right in quick succession, eager to anticipate his movements.

Only his long-forgotten flying skills had kept him from an embarrassing tumble when he first mounted the broom. Draco had kicked off, surprised by the speed of the broom, and almost slipped, but then instinct and muscle memory kept him upright, and, though Potter had smirked, he hadn't commented on the slight wobble that betrayed his initial clumsiness.

Potter was flying next to him on his Firebolt. A sentimental choice, he admitted.

"The Nimbus is much more modern, faster and more agile, and I do love flying on it, but the Firebolt… Sirius gave it to me in third year, you know."

Draco nodded. He'd learnt a lot about his once disgraced cousin from Hermione, and regretted now that he'd never had a chance to really get to know him. With his father in prison and his mother as good as gone, he felt more and more alone.

He and Potter flew lazily around over abandoned fields and clumps of trees, the massive grey North Sea glittering in the distance. Draco realised Potter was giving him the chance to get used to the feel of flying again. He appreciated the gesture, though neither of them acknowledged it.

But as they flew around with varying speeds, the sun too weak to blind them and the wind cold enough to cut through their clothes, Draco started to feel more confident again, up to the point where he sent a smirk in Potter's direction.

"So, Potter, did you plan on going any faster on that geriatric broom of yours, or are you practising for an outing with centenarians next week?"

Potter's head snapped up, and he returned the grin.

"I'm up for a game if you are?"

"How far are we from Muggle territory?"

Harry looked around pensively, then shrugged.

"This area is pretty abandoned but you can never know. Some of them like to hike, and if it's a glorious day for flying, it's definitely nice for walking too. Why?"

Draco's grin widened.

"And how good are you in conjuring?"

Potter's eyes narrowed.

"Better than average. Why?"

"How about an obstacle course then? If you cast some Muggle repelling charms we should be safe. You could conjure up some stuff to make a race more interesting."

Potter's eyes brightened with enthusiasm.

"That sounds great. We could do a best out of three? An obstacle course, best out of 5 Quaffle throws and… a Seekers' game?"

Draco nodded enthusiastically until that last suggestion, and he couldn't stop the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. He hadn't been on a broom in ages, and memories from all the times Potter snatched the Snitch seconds before he reached it at their Hogwarts Quidditch games overwhelmed him. He didn't really want to back out but…

"Scared, Malfoy?"

Draco regarded Potter with a cool gaze and his mouth turned into sneer.

"You wish, Potter. Game on. Get conjuring, you twat, and do the Quaffle first so I can practise throwing."

When Potter opened his mouth to protest, he added, "You know that's only fair, Potter, I haven't held one in years, and I'm sure you've played Chaser a couple of times in the past years at Weasley games, Hermione told me. Unless _you're_ scared, of course."

Harry laughed loudly and set to work. He tossed a conjured Quaffle at Malfoy and suppressed a grin when he almost fumbled the catch. It really would only be fair to let him get used to the feel of a Quaffle again. Then he cast some strong suggestive wards that would make any straying Muggles remember they had an urgent appointment and turn back to wherever they came from.

He wasn't sure what to do about the obstacle course, but decided against asking Malfoy for advice. Harry wasn't quite comfortable enough around him yet to consider him a friend, and didn't want to seem less than in control in front of him. _Maybe one day I'll trust him enough.  
_

"Not bad," Malfoy said as he looked at the obstacles in front of them. Harry considered that high praise indeed. He had created one course and duplicated it so they could both go through at the same time. There were hoops at different heights, flame-throwing rocks, then a series of resizing hoops forming a wormhole in the air, which they'd have to enter at just the right time and speed if they didn't want to get stuck in a hoop that was suddenly too small, and blocks that created a slalom course, moving in random patterns. At the end of the course were three Quidditch hoops, the left one sporting three red ribbons, the right one three green ribbons.

"We'll go through three times, fetch one of the ribbons, go back the other way and attach them to this tree. Whoever makes it through three times and ties their three ribbons on the tree first, wins this game. No magic."

Malfoy nodded. "How do we count to start?"

Harry pointed his wand into the sky and a timer appeared. "It'll count down from ten, we leave at zero. Anything else?"

Malfoy licked his lips in anticipation and grinned. "Ready when you are, Potter."

And with a laugh, Harry slipped his wand into his arm holster and got ready to race.

* * *

Draco was quite proud of himself. He'd lost the Quaffle game but won the obstacle course, although he was sure it had more to do with having a better broom than better flying skills. Even on an old Firebolt Potter could outfly him - as he proved during their Seekers' game.

He hadn't _actually_ expected to win any of the three games, though it had been his idea to compete. He'd just had enough of the lazy flying and wanted some more action. He felt confident enough on the broom, but not yet quite as comfortable as he remembered, and his reflexes were a little slower than he liked. It was to be expected, after almost seven Quidditch-less years.

He'd still given it his all, and Potter hadn't had that easy a time of catching the Snitch. And he did only lose the Quaffle game by one point, so that wasn't too embarrassing. He landed softly, and watched as Potter Vanished all he had conjured. The flame-throwing rocks had been particularly nasty, and twice he'd only narrowly escaped burns.

Potter landed next to him, ran his hand through his hair and looked at the setting sun.

"Time to go, I think. It'll be dark soon."

Draco nodded and held out his hand.

"Good game, Potter. Thank you."

Potter looked down at his hand, and seemed to hesitate. Draco was sure he, too, was thinking of that time he'd refused that same hand. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. It _was_ a lifetime ago.

Then Potter grasped his hand and gave it a vigorous shake.

"Very good game. Maybe we should do this again."

Then they both let go and looked away uncomfortably.

Draco cleared his throat.

"Right. Let's just go."

He took the arm Potter offered and was apparated back to Hermione's.

* * *

"I'm glad you had a good time with Harry," Hermione said, smiling at Draco. "It didn't occur to me you might like to go flying, I'm sorry. I'm not very fond of it myself, you see, so I tend to forget about it."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Not fond is an understatement, if I am to believe what Potter told me. But yes, I did enjoy it, very much." He grinned at her in return.

Hermione's smile widened, then she blushed and turned back to her cooking.

When he'd first come back to the flat, she'd almost forgotten how to breathe - he'd presented a very attractive picture, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright and his hair tousled from the wind. Even the smell of broom polish and fresh air and just _Draco_ had seemed irresistible, so much so that her memories between seeing Draco and him disappearing into the bathroom for a shower were completely blurred. Harry had left at some point, and she was almost certain she'd said goodbye, but other than that…

And the thought of Draco in the shower did not help at all, so she decided to get started on prepping the veg for dinner, chopping away at carrots and green beans with more vigour than the activity had ever excited before. She was in trouble. So much trouble.

* * *

Draco leaned against the wall and stared out the window at the lamp-lit street beneath. Not many people were out at this hour, but now and then a brave soul scurried through the steady drizzle that had plagued London all day, only to duck into a car or one of the houses along the street.

Hermione came to stand next to him and handed him a cup of tea.

"What are you thinking of?"

Draco shrugged. "Just… everything. Life. How things have changed. You have no idea how happy I was today, flying around… I thought I'd never have that chance again. And it's all thanks to you."

He turned away from the window, taking a sip - dash of milk, two sugars, perfect - and looked at her.

"I'm not sure I ever really said thank you for everything you're doing for me. But I am grateful, Hermione. I can never thank you enough for taking me in, for fighting the Wizengamot, for trying to get my life back. For forgiving me."

He took a deep breath, and his free hand went up to her face, almost of its own volition, and pushed some stray curls behind her ear.

"You're a very special woman, Hermione Granger," he murmured. His fingers traced her cheek, and her breath hitched. His eyes were fixed on hers, and he could see her pupils dilate, felt her jaw tremble under his fingertips, and when his eyes flicked down to her mouth, he saw the tip of her tongue running around her parted lips. He could swear she was almost leaning into him. _I want her._ He swallowed thickly. His mind was full of possibilities and wonder. _Would she let me? how would she taste? And those beautiful, trusting eyes..._ He didn't move for what seemed like the longest time. Then one thought flashed through his brain like a bright red warning sign. _I can't. Not now. Not while I have nothing to offer and everything to lose._

He closed his eyes and stepped back, a regretful frown on his face.

"I think I'd better go change. I'm more tired than I thought after all that flying today," he said, knowing he was choosing the coward's way out, and turned away from her. He didn't see the flash of disappointment in her face.

Draco had almost crossed the room and entered the bathroom when Hermione finally spoke, her voice quivering with an emotion he didn't want to acknowledge.

"I'll transfigure the sofa while you're in the bathroom."

He nodded his thanks but didn't look back.

Hermione sat down on the window sill as soon as the bathroom door had closed behind him. He'd almost kissed her. Surely he'd almost kissed her? Or was she just seeing what she wanted to see? Why had he backed down?

Chewing her lip in frustration, she transfigured the sofa with a few practised flicks of her wand and finished her tea while she waited for the bathroom to be free. She dawdled in front of the bathroom door, determined to confront him, until she heard him turn off the tap and muffled footsteps came towards the door. Then she saw the door handle move down and a sudden panic welled up in her. She darted into her own room and just about slammed the door at the precise moment he came out of the bathroom. Maybe this could wait until tomorrow, after all.

* * *

Monday came bright and early, the late autumn sun struggling to cut through the London fog. Hermione was anything but rested, that almost-kiss playing in her head again and again. How would she confront him today? What could she say? What would he say?

Her musings were interrupted by a noise at the window, and she quickly opened her curtains to find her boss' owl waiting for her. She opened the window, shivering in the cold November air, and took the letter from the leg the beast held out to her with an imperious hoot.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I regretfully have to inform you that your position in our Department has become untenable. The public outrage against your decision to take up the defense of a convicted War criminal has put the work of the entire Department into question. I am sure you understand that, no matter how valuable your work has been, I have to make decisions that put the Department first._

 _I hereby write to inform you that your position is terminated, effective immediately, and six weeks notice will be paid out in full by close of play. The Termination of Contract is attached. Please send a signed copy back within 48 hours of receipt._

 _Should you contest this decision, you may file a complaint with the Ministry's Employment Department, c/o Wrongful Termination Appeal Council._

 _I wish you all the best in your future endeavours._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Carl Figgmore  
Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures_

A second letter fell out of the stack of paperwork that seemed to magically appear as soon as she had accepted the scroll.

 _Hermione,_

 _I truly am sorry. You've been home so you have no idea of the backlash we've gotten in only three days, and we needed to do something. I'm afraid the decision to sacrifice you was made above my head._

 _When all of this has died down, Kingsley and I will make sure you are vindicated and reinstated - you're too valuable for both of us to be cast aside so easily. I promise we will make it up to you._

 _Make sure you win your case. It would serve those bastards right._

 _Your owl post will still be redirected to the Ministry so have no fear of Howlers or other tripe. Only the owls of those who know you personally will be able to get through to you._

 _Take care, Hermione._

 _Carl_

Hermione let out a scream of frustration and slammed the window closed behind the owl, tossing the papers on her bed.

Draco appeared in her doorway moments later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"They fired me. They bloody went and fired me! Because of the public backlash against that article in the Prophet, which was total bollocks in the first place! I can't believe they just fired me!"

Angry tears welled up in her eyes, and Draco stepped closer and pulled her into a hug.

"You deserve better than that. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."

Hermione slapped him on the chest and pushed him away. She wiped the tears from her eyes and glared at him.

"Don't you start. Don't you dare start. This isn't your fault. It's those bigoted, narrow-minded idiots at the Ministry, not you!"

She took a deep breath, wandlessly summoned a self-inking quill and rifled through the papers to find the one she was supposed to sign. She jotted down her signature with an angry scrape that almost tore the parchment, and stomped to the open fire in her living room. She threw some Floo powder into the hearth, and as soon as the flames turned green, she yelled, "Ministry of Magic, Carl Figgmore's office," and tossed the letter into the flames. It disappeared with a whoosh.

"I'll show them. Fire me, did they? To appease public opinion? You just wait, you spineless cowards," she muttered, as she stalked back into her bedroom and slammed the door in Draco's face.

* * *

Draco wanted to keep Hermione distracted from what had happened that morning, but he was only partially successful. He tried to keep her amused by recounting all that had happened during the obstacle course race the day before, but though she listened and laughed, at times she'd fall into a pensive mood and start muttering again.

It didn't help that the events of the night before had made it hard for him to know how to behave around her. He realised now that she was at least a little attracted to him, and that he had betrayed his own feelings by almost kissing her. The one good thing from those dismissal letters was that at least she wasn't thinking about their almost-kiss, but it didn't stop his mind from going back to that moment.

They'd lost the easy footing on which they had interacted before, and he wasn't sure how to proceed. He didn't want to encourage her, not when there was a chance he'd have to go back to Azkaban. Maybe after the appeal, maybe when he was no longer so dependent on her to even have a roof above his head, but not now.

The only thing that did bring her out of her angry rants was another official Ministry owl, bringing them the date for his appeal. It was scheduled for 6 December, in exactly one week, and from then on she poured all her angry energy into the preparations for the appeal.

That evening, while Draco was in the bathroom, Hermione opened the Floo again to call Harry, who answered immediately.

"I've been waiting for your call, 'Mione. I heard as soon as I got to the office. I went straight to Kingsley, of course, but he said it was out of his hands. Apparently it was decided by the Wizengamot Select, and of course the ten members that came together were mostly those who have wanted to see you leave the Ministry ever since you started. The whole Malfoy debacle gave them the two votes they needed."

Hermione sighed and sat down in front of the fire, her chin resting on her hand. There were some Pureblood bigots in the Wizengamot who had tried to stop every single piece of legislation she had pushed through. The Wizengamot Select always consisted of ten members who could make emergency decisions that even the Minister couldn't overturn, and they had used the public outcry to push their own agenda.

"I should have known those bastards would use this as an excuse. I was wondering why Figgmore said the decision was made over his head."

"So how are you doing?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I was angry, of course. Still am. But they will regret this. You just wait." She sighed, then said, "I can still count on you, right? For the appeal? They've set the date, next Monday at 9 am. I'll need your support more than ever now."

Harry nodded.

"Of course, 'Mione. I'll be there and I'll tell them what an exemplary citizen Malfoy has become."

"Don't be too nice about him, or they'll smell a rat."

"Don't worry, I can't act that well."

They both snorted.

"I have heard Amanda Howell will be attending."

Hermione's eyebrows rose.

"The Head of the DMLE? Whatever for?"

"A little bird may have told her you're interested in the prosecutor position that has opened up. She wants to see what you're capable of."

Hermione blushed, then her mouth turned into an almost feral smile.

"I'll be happy to show her!"

Harry chuckled.

"Looks like you were right, after all. This whole gamble with Malfoy will get you the job you wanted."

"Lucky old me," Hermione said with a wry smile.

After reassuring Harry that she really was fine, she closed the call and transfigured Draco's bed again.

Neither of them had heard the bathroom door open or close while they were talking.

* * *

Draco rested his forehead against the door, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands balled into fists. She didn't care about him at all. She was just using him to advance her career. He let out a surprised, humourless chuckle, when he realised it was an utterly Slytherin thing to. But that didn't make it hurt any less. He took some deep breaths, trying to compose himself, but it was difficult to ignore the pain in his chest.

He did come out of the bathroom soon after, but couldn't bear to look at her as he made his way to his bed. He ignored her "Goodnight", and, irrationally, felt even more hurt when she failed to notice his lack of response.

He spent the night tossing and turning, unsure of what to do. Knowing what he really was to her, he couldn't risk his heart any further - he didn't like to admit it was too late anyway - but at the same time he couldn't blame her, not really. They'd never been friends. _And we never will be._

When the sun peeked through the curtains the next morning, he was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione woke up to a quiet flat and burrowed deeper into the duvet, enjoying the peaceful moment. When her stomach began to rumble, she decided to tiptoe to the kitchen without waking up Draco and find something to eat. She was a little surprised to see the empty bed in the living room, but it was only while she was pouring orange juice that she realised the bathroom door was open, and the bathroom itself dark.

She became a little worried when Draco didn't respond when she called his name, then told herself not to be silly, he'd probably just gone out to fetch some breakfast. Or maybe he felt like a walk.

She felt even more uneasy when she saw his keys on the end table by the door. He wouldn't have forgotten his keys. He never forgot his keys, even when they left the flat together. She forced herself to open his wardrobe, and saw only the wizarding robes they'd bought in Edinburgh. No Muggle clothes. No Muggle clothes at all. That's when the panic set in.

* * *

Harry had come to his office early to avoid the gossip vultures trying to get a reaction from him to the news that his best friend had been fired from her job, but to no avail. Every time any of his Ministry co-workers saw him, they'd come up to him and express their 'absolute astonishment' at the 'unfair dismissal' of the great Hermione Granger, and what would poor Miss Granger do now? He was tired of keeping that same bland smile on his face, tired of being polite to perfect strangers. It was almost as bad as it had been right after the War.

So when he pushed open the door to his office after the last meeting of the day, longing to go home and take a long hot bath - preferably with Ginny - he noticed someone waiting for him.

"George told me they fired her."

"Good evening to you, too, Ron. And yes, she received notice yesterday. Nothing anyone can do at the moment. She'll use the time to prepare for the appeal and blast the Wizengamot and Ministry objections to pieces, and that will be that. She'll bounce back. She always does."

Ron sighed and sat down in one of the chairs in front of Harry's desk, and Harry settled into his own chair.

"So she's okay? You talked to her?"

Harry nodded. "Firecall yesterday. She's furious, of course, but you know what she's like. She'll channel all that energy into something worthwhile."

Ron snorted. "Yeah, like getting old Ferretboy's money and grand house back?"

Harry placed his elbows on his desk and pressed his fingertips to his temples.

"Ron, if you're just here to have the same argument again…"

His voice trailed off. He was tired of listening to Ron's rants about Draco Malfoy, even more so now he'd spent time with the guy. He couldn't really say he liked him, but he did respect the man. Once he'd been a pampered Pureblood prince, a bully and a bigot, and the Draco Malfoy from his childhood was not someone he'd like to know under any circumstances. But the man had survived four years in Azkaban, and after being ostracised from the only life he knew and tossed into the Muggle world with barely more than the clothes he'd worn, he'd managed to survive, without magic, without money, without even a roof over his head or a fire to keep him warm. And without resenting any of it. Harry had seen that Malfoy still believed he deserved it all. He didn't blame either Wizards or Muggles for what had happened. Had Hermione ignored him when he'd stumbled into that pub, almost a month ago, he'd have gone on surviving and accepting whatever curve balls life threw his way.

Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts and realised Ron had continued talking.

"... so I understand that. And Ginny gave me a talking to, too. I'm trying, I really am, but… I mean, Harry, he was always the Ferret, ever since fourth year, and that memory will amuse me until the end of my days. But even if I don't get it, it's important to Hermione and that makes it important to me."

Harry wanted to say something in return, but a silver otter materialised on his desk and started speaking in Hermione's voice.

"Harry, please come to my flat as soon as you can. Draco's gone and I don't know where he is. The trial's in a week, you have to find him. Please. Please come."

Then the otter evaporated into thin air.

"I have to go," Harry said, pushing himself up from his chair and summoning his cloak.

"I'll come with you."

"Is that a good idea? She doesn't want to see you, you know that."

Ron took a deep breath.

"Look, I know that, I do. But you heard her voice, she's bordering on hysterical here, so if I can do anything to help... You know you can't bring in the Aurors unless there are suspicious circumstances, and, I mean, it's Malfoy, mate, you know they won't want to touch this case with a ten foot pole."

Harry shook his head, but said, with a resigned sigh, "Fine. But if she kicks you out, you leave without protest."

* * *

Hermione threw open the door and her face immediately fell when she recognised Harry and Ron. She beckoned them both inside, looked out into the hallway, then closed the door again.

"I can't believe he left without even leaving a note," she said, sagging against the door, her arms wrapped around herself in a fruitless attempt to make the loneliness inside go away. Harry stepped up to her and pulled her in a hug.

"Are you sure he's gone? Maybe he's just gone for a walk, or maybe he's visiting a friend. He may be back later."

"He was gone when I woke up this morning. He left his keys on the end table. He took all his Muggle clothes but left his Wizarding robes. He's gone. I went everywhere, Harry. Everywhere we've been in these past weeks, the shop, the restaurants, walked around the neighbourhood for hours and nobody has seen him. He's left. He's just left. You have to find him. Please, Harry!"

Harry guided her to the kitchen table and sat her down on a chair. He noticed the sofa was still transfigured to a bed, one that clearly had been slept in. Ron was studying the bed and the clothes in the wardrobe.

"Why do you think he's left? I mean, there's no note, like I said, maybe he'll be back tonight. What makes you so sure he's gone? Did anything happen in the past few days? Did anything change?"

Hermione clasped Harry's hand tightly in her own, and tried to get her mind to slow down. Just having her two best friends in the room made her feel calmer and more herself again.

"You know everything that happened, Harry. Yesterday morning I received an owl from Figgmore telling me I was fired. I ranted about that, of course, and he tried to distract me by talking about your obstacle race from Sunday."

Hermione paused and her eyes flicked to Ron, whose face had turned bright red, but whether with embarrassment or anger she couldn't rightly say. He leaned against the table behind Harry and looked away from her.

"Then around noon we received the date and time for his appeal. And we spent all afternoon going over his testimony and the old transcripts, and he seemed fine. He was a little apprehensive about what was coming, I suppose, but then he has been from the start. He really seemed to finally be starting to believe it might work, you know." Hermione rubbed a hand over her eyes. "I don't know what else to tell you, Harry. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary."

But as she said that, something was niggling at the back of her mind. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, her brow creasing in concentration.

"He did seem a little strange last night. Went to bed straight after we ended our call. He didn't even say goodnight."

Her eyes flew open.

"He always says goodnight. So maybe something was wrong? But I have no idea what could have changed. Nothing happened."

"Nothing?" Harry pressed on.

Hermione blushed, but didn't answer the question. Instead, she said, "I'm just worried something's happened to him, you know? I mean, because of that Prophet article, everyone knows he's living here, and the date of the appeal is probably widely known as well. He doesn't have a wand, Harry, he can't defend himself. What if someone came and kidnapped him to make sure he can't make it to his trial? Or worse, to…"

She tightened her grip on Harry's hands. "What if someone's out to kill him, take revenge or some such idiotic idea? You know there are crazies out there, Harry, you deal with them every day."

Harry freed one of his hands and quickly put it over her mouth to stop her from talking.

"Has anyone breached your wards?"

She raised her shoulders, and mumbled something against his hand. He placed it back in his lap, and she repeated, "I forgot to check."

Ron got up before either of them moved and whipped out his wand.

"I'll check, if that's okay with you. You keep talking."

Hermione watched as Ron moved towards the door and started muttering spells to test her wards.

"What are you not telling me, 'Mione?" Harry pressed on, his voice soft but unrelenting.

Hermione blushed again.

"Harry…"

"The more we know the easier it will be to find him, 'Mione. You know that. I doubt you would have slept through any breach in your wards, and since his clothes are gone, I'm thinking he probably left of his own free will."

Hermione looked at their entwined hands. Harry was her best friend, and she knew he wouldn't judge, but with Ron here…

"Why did you bring Ron?"

"He was in my office when your Patronus arrived. He volunteered to help. We didn't know the particulars so we wanted to keep this disappearance as quiet as possible. And since this doesn't look like foul play, it's probably best to keep it this way. Why are you avoiding my question?"

Hermione squeezed his hands and then let go. She walked up to the window and looked out over the street. It was raining again, a cold and steady drizzle that never looks like it's that bad, but soaks everything and everyone inside out within minutes. She shivered involuntarily.

"We almost kissed."

Her voice was so soft, Harry nearly missed it.

"What?" Ron spat, outraged. Hermione ignored him, lost in the memory for one moment longer.

"Sunday evening. We almost kissed. I'm pretty sure we almost kissed. But he turned away and between me receiving my notice and the court date being announced we didn't really talk about it, so I don't know…"

"Did you want to kiss him?" Ron asked through clenched teeth. His face had turned an unusual shade of scarlet, and his blue eyes were cold with fury. He was standing on the other side of the table, his fists forcefully coming down onto the wooden table top.

Hermione whirled around, her eyes angrily focusing on her friend. Harry glanced between them and decided not to interfere - yet.

"Yes, yes I wanted to kiss him. Is that what you want to hear, Ron? What business is it of yours, anyway? I don't even know why you're here. You've shown time and time again you don't care about me at all, so don't go pretending you're shocked that I'm moving on."

"But it's Malfoy! Of all people…"

"So? What does that matter? You don't know what he's like now, you haven't talked to him since Hogwarts." She stepped closer to her side of the table and mirrored his stance.

"I can understand you want to help the little Ferret, Hermione, you've always had a thing for the lost and destitute. But there's a difference between helping and a pity shag."

"A pity shag? If I wanted a pity shag I'd come back to you."

They were both breathing heavily and glaring. Harry made to move between them, but then Hermione turned away again, her shoulders slumped, her hands pulling angrily on the sleeves of her jumper.

"I can't even imagine any more what it was like before he moved in here," she said in a low voice. "I do want him in my life. If something happens to him, I don't know what I'd do…"

Her voice broke and she started sobbing, loud, wrecking sobs that made her body shudder. Harry caught her when her knees gave out and held her, muttering comforting words and rubbing soothing circles on her back until she calmed down.

Ron slumped down onto a chair, his head in his hands, his shoulders drooping. He glanced at Harry and Hermione occasionally, but didn't say anything.

Hermione calmed down again eventually. She studiously ignored Ron, which he didn't blame her for.

"Try not to worry, Hermione," Harry said, sending a questioning look over her head towards Ron.

"The wards haven't been breached," Ron said when he caught Harry's eye. His tone was mechanical and dull - Hermione's confession had clearly shaken him.

Harry's lips twitched, but he tried to suppress his reaction. So Malfoy had left the flat willingly, and it would be hard to track him down.

"I'll try to find him," he said, with a deep sigh. "But you have to understand, it won't be easy. He has no wand and can't use magic, so we can't use the usual magical means of locating someone. If he's returned to the Muggle world it's entirely possible he will manage to disappear completely." He saw Hermione's eyes fill with tears she was desperately trying to fight, and his heart broke for her. He'd noticed that she'd grown fond of Malfoy at their dinner, but hadn't said anything. It wasn't any of his business, after all. But from his behaviour at that dinner, he'd imagined Malfoy at least halfway in love with her as well, and he just couldn't understand why the man would disappear in the middle of the night, without leaving a note, a week before his - likely triumphant - return to Wizarding society.

"I need you to give me a list of all the places and people he's recently seen or mentioned to you. And, Hermione, please stay here as much as possible. He'll need you to be here when he returns." He thought it was probably safer to say that, than to admit that though Malfoy had probably left willingly, it didn't mean that he was staying away voluntarily. Some Death Eater sympathizers were still at large, and they might have wanted to recruit him, or punish him for taking up with a Muggleborn. Or the families of War victims might have seen him and taken the opportunity to exact revenge. He didn't need her running all over London in search of him and putting herself in danger. Harry let out a sigh of relief when she agreed, and, as soon as Hermione had given him the list, he and Ron left.

Ron didn't speak when they arrived in Gimmauld Place, and didn't even dodge the fist Harry swung at him.

"You promised you'd try to make it up to her, and instead you yell at her when she's so obviously upset? You're a selfish wanker, Ronald Weasley," he yelled.

Ron had fallen backwards onto the sofa, and cradled his cheek in one hand while staring up at Harry with dazed eyes.

"She's in love with him." He spoke in the same mechanical and dull tone he'd used earlier. Harry sighed and dropped onto the floor, unfolding the paper Hermione had given him and studying the - painfully short - list of people and places.

"That seems obvious."

"I didn't expect that."

"Again, that seems obvious."

They were quiet for a long time.

"What do you think happened?"

Harry shrugged. "It's possible he was abducted after leaving the flat, but Hermione's flat is under the Fidelius so not many people actually know where she lives. It's unlikely anyone has been lying in wait in her general neighbourhood, but it's a possibility. I'll check the Apparition Tracking Map from last night for this area. If I go back to the office now, there will be less people on duty so less questions asked."

Ron nodded.

"What can I do?"

Harry frowned. "You still want to help?"

Ron looked away and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Look, I know I screwed up, again. I can say I'm sorry over and over, but I know it won't do much good. So yes, I still want to help. I never want to see her so distraught again. Merlin, Harry, it was almost as bad as when the Healers told her that her parents' memory charm would never be reversed. I just... Let me help, please?"

Harry rubbed a hand over the back of his neck while he studied his friend.

"Maybe you can go around to the Leaky, ask Hannah if she's seen Malfoy. If he's gone back into the Wizarding world that's the likeliest place for him to cross into Diagon Alley. But be discrete, Ron, I'm serious. Make sure nobody overhears. We can meet back here in thirty minutes or so. If we have no other leads, I think we'll have to go about it the Muggle way."

"What do you mean?"

"He's been living on the streets for the past year or so. He might be trying to find a place to sleep in some of the homeless shelters. We can check those. He won't try to sleep in the parks in this weather."

Ron blinked, confused. "Sleep in the parks?"

"It's what people do when they have no place to live and no money to pay for a room."

"But I thought… His vaults…"

"And how would he have gotten into Gringotts without a wand? Look, we can discuss this later. Just go to the Leaky, I'll pass by the Ministry, and we'll compare notes afterwards."

Harry fixed Ron with a glare that made him swallow whatever questions he might have wanted to ask, and with a terse nod goodbye they apparated to their destinations.

* * *

That week was one of the strangest Hermione had lived through since the War. She hardly ever left the house, and then only to go to places she had been to with Draco, like the Muggle supermarket or the fish and chips place nearby, or the tea shop she'd first seen him. She tried to concentrate on the appeal she had to prepare for, but time and time again she would catch herself staring out the windows at the street below, hoping against hope that she'd see a flash of blond hair, or the emerald green scarf he loved to wear.

Ginny came to sit with her when she wasn't training, making her eat, and keeping her company while they waited until Harry stumbled out of the Floo, a regretful look on his face betraying the lack of success before he could say a word.

If she spent most of her nights in his bed, hugging his pillow close and desperately trying to cling to the last of his scent, then that was something she didn't share with either of her friends. And they never asked why she didn't transfigure the bed back into a sofa.

The night the frost painted ice flowers on her windows, she cried.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you so much for all your kind reviews! I can't believe this story now has 100+ followers! Eek!?  
Bit of a filler chapter, I know. We'll catch up with Draco soon, I promise.**


	10. Chapter 10

Ron kicked at an empty beer can and drew his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the damp cold that seemed to penetrate his bones. Glancing around, he surreptitiously cast a warming charm and shivered in relief as the heat spread through his body. He'd gone around all the shelters again, and still nobody had seen Malfoy. He couldn't care less, of course, if the Ferret had been spending all these nights under a bridge. But Harry and Ginny had both said Hermione was looking worse and worse, and he'd give anything to see her happy again. And they only had two more nights to find the man their best friend had, somehow, lost her heart to, or the appeal for the Wizengamot would most likely come to nothing.

Visiting those shelters, night after night, had left him with deep impressions of mostly unkempt, hungry and altogether desperate people hoping for a little warmth and a bed to sleep in. Ever since the frost had truly set in, the shelters were overrun. And yet still Malfoy hadn't shown up. He couldn't see how Malfoy had ever lived like that, but both Harry and Ginny had assured him that it was exactly what he'd done since his release from Azkaban. He'd been horrified when he'd seen one of the volunteers turn a young mother and child away with a sad shake of the head, indicating that, no, tonight they really, really didn't have any spare beds. He'd run after the young mother and pushed a bunch of those notes of Muggle money towards her, not really knowing how much he was actually giving her. He just couldn't bear the idea that a mother and child would have to spend the night outside in this kind of weather.

Ron wondered if Malfoy had left London altogether, but then where would he have gone without money and friends in the Muggle world? His aimless wandering had taken him towards a dingy-looking part of London - though in the steady drizzle, very few boroughs would pass for anything but dingy - and he gripped his wand more tightly.

He heard the distinctive pop of Apparition in an alley and instinctively drew into the shadows of a shop entry. This wasn't the kind of area where wizards would usually hang about. Someone came out of the alley, hood pulled deep over his head against the rain, and walked by him without looking up. Ron cast a notice-me-not charm and decided to follow the figure. The person came to a stop in front of a seedy hotel, the name of which was completely illegible as half the letters of the neon sign were dark. After a quick look around, the cloak was transfigured into a woolen winter coat, and the man stepped through the door. It took Ron only a moment to recognize Blaise Zabini in the faint glow of the purple neon lights, before he disappeared into the building.

Ron paused. He didn't think Zabini was up to anything sinister. In his short career as Auror, he had been assigned to investigate the man regularly, and neither in his business nor in his personal life did he ever put even a toe out of line. But Zabini had been one of the few people Draco Malfoy had been in contact with since his release. Ron peered through the windows and saw a desk with a bored-looking receptionist, a dark hallway and the hint of stairs at the back. The carpets were worn and the furniture had seen better days. Zabini was nowhere to be seen.

Ron ended the concealment charm, entered the hotel and had a quick chat with the receptionist that proved Malfoy was, indeed, renting a room there. He obliviated her soon after, to make sure she wouldn't betray that he'd been there, and disapparated to his own flat, not entirely sure what to do. He could tell himself that he only wanted Hermione to be happy, but did he really want her to be happy with _Draco Malfoy_ of all people? Wouldn't it be better to just let the git disappear so she could forget about him and move on? Besides, maybe Zabini would convince Malfoy to go back. Maybe tomorrow the whole sorry situation would have solved itself. Resolved to give Malfoy a chance to make the right move, he fell into a restless sleep.

* * *

Ron held his bottle of Butterbeer between two fingers and leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the one person in the room who was determined to ignore him. Hermione had let herself be dragged to the Weasley Sunday brunch, though she had clearly much rather stayed home, waiting for Draco. She looked pale and drawn, and though her mouth sometimes twisted into a smile, her eyes remained dull. He hadn't seen her like this since the War, and it rattled him.

When his mother bustled past, giving Hermione a quick hug, and asked her why she hadn't brought Draco Malfoy, her lips trembled and her voice shook a little as she answered that he hadn't been feeling well, and, though grateful for the invitation, would prefer to meet them another time. Ron noticed the worried looks that passed between Harry and Ginny and the way Hermione clenched her fists together so tightly that her knuckles turned white. He made a decision.

* * *

Draco knew he was drunk off his arse - quite literally, as he'd missed the chair when he sat down and had somehow ended up on the floor. He hadn't spilled his cheap whiskey, though, which was good. His head rested against his bed in an awkward angle, but he couldn't be bothered to move, except to bring the bottle back to his mouth and swallow some more of the numbing liquid. His eyes were closed, because his swimming vision only made him feel nauseous.

Someone was yelling at him. Why were people yelling at him? He groaned and turned away, lifting an arm to cover his ears and hoped the idiot would just go away. No such luck. He was rudely shaken and had to open his eyes to glare at the intruder, but then he blinked in surprise. A weasel? Why was there a weasel shouting in his bedroom? This really was the strangest dream. Almost as strange as when Blaise showed up out of nowhere. But this red weasel, it was fascinating. It seemed to turn redder and redder with every word. Draco cocked his head and nearly fell flat on his back. He brought the bottle back up to his mouth, but the snotty weasel ripped it out of his hand and held it out of his reach. He tried to stand up, swayed precariously on his feet, and threw up all over the ghastly carpet of his bedroom. He stared at the mess at his feet for a long time, then looked up at the red weasel, and keeled over. Blissful darkness. Finally.

Ron Weasley stared open-mouthed at the man he had once so much despised. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or be angry.

"You're such an idiot, Malfoy," he muttered while he cleaned up the mess, packed up Malfoy's belongings and disapparated them all to his own flat. Hopefully the git would be able to sleep it all off in one night.

* * *

Hermione paced the hallway, fiddling with her notes. She dropped her quill and almost tripped over her robes. It was ten minutes to the start of the appeal, and Draco still hadn't turned up. She had seen Amanda Howell take her place on the Prosecutor side, and when nobody else joined her, realised that she would be taking on the Head of the DMLE herself. The full Wizengamot had turned out for this appeal, morbidly fascinated by the War Heroine taking up the case of a convicted Death Eater. Harry and Ginny had already walked in, taking their seats on the side of the defendant, and so had Arthur Weasley and Blaise Zabini. There were two more seats on the front row, one for her, and one for Draco. But what would she do if he didn't turn up?

"We're about to start, Ms. Granger," the Court Scribe, a mousy but sharp-looking woman, informed her.

Hermione only nodded, her shoulders slumping. She bowed her head, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"For you, Draco."

Then she lifted her chin, drew her shoulders back, and smiled. She was ready for battle.

* * *

The Court Scribe cleared her throat and began the proceedings.

"The Wizengamot is convened today to discuss amendments to the sentence of convicted Death Eater Draco Malfoy. Who supports this petition to the Wizengamot?"

Icarus Diggle stood up, smoothing down his plum robes.

"I support the petition to consider this appeal," he said.

"Who seconds this petition?"

Dariah Jones, daughter of the famous Quidditch player Gwenog Jones, also stood up.

"I second this petition."

"Thank you, Mr. Diggle, Ms. Jones. We shall begin by reviewing the original sentence, then hear the arguments of the defense, and the response of the Ministry. The Defense will call their witnesses to the stand, and Ms. Howell may cross-examine if she so wishes."

"Ms. Granger, why is Mr. Malfoy not in attendance?," Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted.

Hermione turned bright red and began to stutter, but then the doors to the courtroom opened, and Draco and Ron strode in.

"My apologies to the Court. There was a long line at the security check and they were reluctant to let Mr. Malfoy through," Ron said, before pushing Draco to stand next to Hermione, and taking a seat in the row behind them. If Hermione had glanced back at him, she might have noticed Ron pressing his wand into the small of Draco's back, but, as it was, she was too distracted by the sudden appearance of the man she had been looking for for almost a week.

"Where have you been?" She hissed at him.

His cool grey eyes glanced over her, but he ignored her and focused his attention on the Wizengamot. The Court Scribe cleared her throat again, picked up a scroll and began to read through the verdict of his previous trial.

* * *

Draco was a little shaken by the myriad of emotions he had seen on Hermione's face when she recognised him. Relief, fear, sadness, hurt… He couldn't pinpoint exactly which of those had touched him so deeply, but something had. When the monotonous voice of the Court Scribe began to read the accusations and verdict of his previous trial, he had to press his nails into his palms to stop the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm him. A soft hand stroked his arm and brought him back to the present, but as soon as he realised it was Hermione, he jerked away. He noticed the stricken expression on her face from the corner of his eye but told himself he didn't care. She was only using him. And now he was only using her to get his life back. There was no need to get emotional.

"The Defense may present their opening statement and call their first witness," said Shacklebolt with a quick nod at Hermione.

Hermione swallowed the feeling of rejection and stood up to address the court. She briefly glanced down at her notes, but she knew exactly what she was going to say.

"Draco Malfoy was a child when he took the Dark Mark. He was a child for most of the War, and he faced situations no child should ever face. Nobody will deny his family supported Voldemort, and that Draco himself did some atrocious things in his service. But I will argue that the Wizengamot, at the time of this verdict, did not take in account the extenuating circumstances of Draco Malfoy's behaviour during our capture at Malfoy Manor and during the Final Battle. I also will argue that the sentence, as it stands, leaves no room for Mr. Malfoy to redeem himself in our society, and that he deserves such a chance."

Draco tried to maintain a calm mask as Hermione asked Blaise, Ginny and Harry to the witness stand. He barely managed to suppress his embarrassment when Blaise informed the Wizengamot of how he'd been living on the streets, foraging food from bins and sleeping on benches in the parks of London. He stared at the floor while Ginny explained that she'd spent time with him and truly believed he was no longer a danger to society. He only briefly looked up when Harry repeated that Draco had deliberately refused to identify them when captured, had refused to kill him when he had the chance at Hogwarts, and had even provided the wand that had ultimately defeated Voldemort. Then he, too, stated that he believed Draco should be given a second chance, and that in all the time they had spent together, he hadn't said one word about blood supremacy, and that he had treated everyone he met with respect, be they magical or Muggle.

Draco knew it was his turn next, and prepared to rattle off his apologies and undying loyalty to the Ministry and the new Powers-that-be, but Hermione caught him off-guard with her first question.

"Do you remember the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Draco swallowed. "Of course. I don't think anyone who was there could ever forget."

"Can you explain to the court what happened in the third floor corridor?"

His eyes snapped to hers for the first time since he'd heard her admit he was only a means to an end, and he saw the pain and fear and determination in her eyes. For a moment, he forgot that they were not the only two people in the room.

"Are you sure you want me to talk about that?"

Outraged murmurs filled the courtroom at his question, but Hermione only nodded, and held up a hand to ask for silence.

"The esteemed Members of the Wizengamot should be informed that Mr. Malfoy's question was not meant as contempt of the Court, but concern for myself. Please, Mr. Malfoy, go ahead."

She looked away now, and he could see that Ginny Potter grasped her hand in support, though both Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley only looked confused.

"During the Battle, after Harry Potter disappeared and the Hogwarts students and staff refused to submit to the Dark Lord, I ended up on the third floor. I was looking for my parents in the fray, and hoped they had sought refuge on one of the abandoned higher floors. Neither of them had wands at that point and I didn't want... When I turned a corner, I saw…" Draco paused, and looked at Hermione again. She avoided his eyes, but gave a tiny nod to encourage him to go on.

"I saw Ronald Weasley, lying on the floor, stunned and bleeding. And I saw Fernir Greyback attack Hermione Granger. He had been denied a taste of her at the Manor, you see, and he really, really didn't like it when his treats escaped. She was wandless and powerless against him, and he was ripping the clothes off her body and running his nails all over her, drawing blood. I was frozen in shock, at first, but when I saw his hands go down and attempt to force her legs… I stunned him. He flew against the wall and cracked his skull, and then I bound him with the strongest _Incarcerous_ I could cast. I healed Miss Granger's wounds and repaired her clothes, and I gave her back her wand. Then I left, I continued to look for my parents."

Hermione looked very pale. After a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and looked up at the Wizengamot again. She let go of Ginny's hand, and mechanically sorted her notes with trembling fingers.

"Can you tell the Court how you lived since your release from Azkaban?"

Draco released a sigh as they finally addressed the questions they had prepared together, and rattled off the responses with a detached voice.

Hermione sat back down and watched as Amanda Howell took the floor for the first time. She had declined to cross-examine the first three witnesses, even seemed bored with the proceedings, but once Draco had taken the stand she had sat up straighter and paid more attention. Hermione admired the woman's poise as she rose from her seat and stepped in front of the witness box.

"Mr. Malfoy, that was a very touching story you told us just now."

"It is all true."

"So you would be willing to testify under Veritaserum?"

"Of course."

Hermione noticed that Draco's lips curled, a sure sign he was getting irritated, and hoped that he would keep his temper.

"Why is it that we haven't heard of your heroic rescue of Hermione Granger before? Surely you must know that this would have had an impact on your sentence?"

"Would it really?"

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head at his hostile tone.

"Nobody asked. You may remember I was under Veritaserum during my trial. That means I can only answer direct questions. Nobody brought up the third floor incident, and in the aftermath of everything that happened, I have to admit I simply hadn't thought to mention it. It may surprise you that sharing a house with a bloodthirsty psychopath and witnessing the horrors of war leaves some people a little shaken. In retrospect I see that it may have been important but at the time I was simply trying very hard to suppress all the memories of those two horrible years. I was desperate to keep my sanity."

Hermione crumpled her notes without noticing, her eyes fixed on Howell, who paced back and forth, contemplating the answer. When she turned back to Draco, her eyes glinted.

"Why did you save Hermione Granger that day, Mr. Malfoy? She was everything your side despised. Muggleborn, best friend of Harry Potter. Why didn't you just leave her to her fate and turn your back on her?"

Hermione gasped. It was one question she'd never asked, and she was afraid to hear the answer. Her eyes met his, and she forgot to breathe.

"I thought… I wanted them to win. Potter and his Order of the Phoenix. I wanted it to be over. I knew they had to win, or it would never stop. But Potter was gone, dead, as far as anyone knew. If Granger and Weasley were also gone… it would have been the end of all hope. So I stunned Greyback and sent them back into battle, hoping they would still find a way to kill Him and win."

Another burst of murmurs rose from the Wizengamot stands, and Hermione let out her breath slowly. Her eyes never left him, but he broke eye contact and looked back at the Prosecutor.

"Let me make this clear, you, a Death Eater, wanted the other side to win?" Amanda Howell couldn't sound more incredulous if she tried.

"Yes."

"And you are willing to say this under Veritaserum?"

"Yes. In fact, if you read the transcripts of my trial, you will find I already have said this under Veritaserum."

"No further questions."

Hermione let out a sigh of relief when he sat back down beside her, and after telling the court she had no more witnesses, they were told to take fifteen minutes recess.

* * *

Draco knew Hermione would try to talk to him as soon as she had the chance, but Weasley and his sodding wand didn't let him leave. She turned on him as soon as the Wizengamot had filed out.

"Where have you been?"

"It's none of your business, Granger." He ignored the sharp jabs in his lower back.

"Granger now, is it? Draco, please, I was so worried about you. Why did you leave?"

"What does that matter? I'm here now, aren't I?"

Hermione let out a growl of frustration that almost made him smile, but when she reached out to take his hand again, he turned away.

"For Merlin's sake, Draco, stop avoiding the question. You left without even a note. I had no idea where you were, or even if you'd get here. Do you have any idea…"

"Oh, yes, my sincere apologies if my behaviour nearly screwed up your promotion," he hissed furiously, and, turning to Weasley, "And will you stop prodding that fucking wand in my back? I'm here now, okay, and I won't go anywhere until this is over. I swear, Weasley, if you give me even one bruise, I'll have your head."

And with a huff he sat forwards again, crossing his arms protectively over his chest, pointedly staring at the floor.

Hermione moved to face Ron.

"Why are you prodding him?"

"Just making sure he doesn't run away again, Hermione. I didn't go through all the trouble of finding him and cleaning him up just to let him escape."

"You found him?" Her face softened, and her eyes were full of wonder.

Ron's cheeks heated up under her gaze and he ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I found him. He was hiding in some seedy Muggle hotel in Hackney, with only some cheap whiskey for company. I took him home and sobered him up and brought him here."

"You did? But… You hate him. You were so… Ron, why?"

Ron shifted in his seat and looked away.

"You know I couldn't care less for him, 'Mione, but I do love you, and I want to see you happy. And if he makes you happy, well, then I'll learn to accept that." He sent her a sheepish smile, then focused his gaze on the back of Malfoy's head and lightly swatted at it with his wand. "Though why you want this idiot is beyond me. He seems convinced you're only using him for your career. Barmy, I tell you."

Draco's cheeks couldn't have turned more scarlet than they already had, and he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He refused to look at her, even when both her hands clutched at his arm.

"Draco…"

He was spared any further humiliation, as the members of the Wizengamot filed in again and took their places.

"The Ministry has the floor," said the Court Scribe in her monotonous voice.

Amanda Howell stepped up, and let her eyes sweep over her audience. "The Ministry calls Mr. Weasley to the stand."

Both Ron and Arthur Weasley made to stand up, looking equally confused, but Howell motioned at Ron alone. "Mr. Ronald Weasley. My apologies for the confusion."

Hermione swiveled around in her seat.

"Did you know about this?" she whispered.

Ron only had time to shake his head emphatically before he was directed to the witness box. Once seated, he felt his Auror training take over, and tried to put on a cool mask.

"Mr. Weasley, may I have your opinion on Mr. Malfoy's attempt to renegotiate his sentence? Your friends seem convinced he's changed and deserves a chance."

Ron swallowed, his eyes flicking over Harry, Ginny and Hermione to fix on Draco Malfoy.

"The time I have spent with Mr. Malfoy has lead me to believe that, though he is as much of a prat as he ever was, he deserves the chance to be part of our society again, and the conditions of his release are too stringent."

Howell's smug look melted away. Ron let a small smile crack through his mask.

"That is not what you said in the Daily Prophet, only two weeks ago," she prodded.

"The reporter of the Daily Prophet, a friend from Hogwarts, talked to me while I was highly intoxicated and used our conversation for the article in question without my consent. I don't think anyone can be held completely accountable for what they say when drunk, unless they repeat those opinions while sober. I'm sober now, and I do not stand by what I said then."

"You refused to testify in Mr. Malfoy's trial, and I notice you were not called by Ms. Granger. Why is that?"

Ron studied his nails, smiled at Hermione and then looked back at Howell.

"I can't say why Hermione didn't call me, because that was her decision and she didn't discuss that with me. As to the previous trial…" He paused, then sighed. "The war was hard on all of us. I was mourning the death of my brother, and I didn't want anything to do with any trials. My testimony would not have differed from Harry's and Hermione's, though. I know Malfoy recognised us at the Manor, and I know he didn't identify us. I know he stopped Crabbe and Goyle from killing Harry."

"And what happened on the third floor?"

"I only remember running from Greyback and blacking out at some point. I don't remember anything else until Hermione woke me up and we went back into the battle."

"And why would your friend not have told you that it was Draco Malfoy who saved you both?"

"I can't answer for someone else's motivations."

Howell's smile had completely disappeared by now, and she made a shallow bow towards the Wizengamot.

"The Defense may cross-examine the witness," she gritted out.

Hermione declined, and Ron gratefully stumbled from the chair and back to his seat in the audience.

But Amanda Howell had not gained the reputation of being one of the toughest Prosecutors for nothing. She had one more card up her sleeve.

"The Ministry calls Ms. Hermione Granger."

* * *

 **AN: Thank you so much for all the reviews and favourites!**


	11. Chapter 11

A wave of surprised murmurs ran through the Wizengamot.

Hermione stood up. "Can Ms. Howell call me to the witness stand? I'm representing…"

"I do believe you have no professional qualifications, Ms. Granger, so you are not really Mr. Malfoy's legal representative. I merely wish to ask you some questions," Amanda Howell cut in, an insincere smile on her face.

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded his assent, with an apologetic look at Hermione. She shrugged and took place in the witness box.

"The article in the Daily Prophet mentioned that Mr. Malfoy has been living with you, is that true?"

"Yes."

"And what is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Malfoy?"

Hermione coloured bright red.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Malfoy?" Howell repeated slowly, and Hermione wished she could curse the woman into next week. Then her eyes met Draco's and she realised _he_ needed to hear the answer, more than anyone else in the room.

"I met Mr. Malfoy for the first time since his trial a few weeks ago in London. We passed each other on the streets. Then I saw him again, at a Muggle pub, where he came in with Mr. Zabini. He was very drunk, and I decided to give him a place to sleep off his hangover. I'd wanted to speak to him since his release to get these ridiculous conditions overturned, but I hadn't been able to find him, and I really didn't want to pass up the opportunity. I found out he was living on the streets and offered him my sofa for however long it would take to prepare the appeal. He eventually accepted and moved in. We've become friends. I care for him very much."

She stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact with everyone else and trying hard to ignore the incessant whispering that had grown louder after her confession.

"Are you in an intimate relationship with him?"

"I am not." She swallowed nervously, then looked up at him. "But I would like to see where our friendship may lead."

His eyes widened in surprise, and then that damned mask was back up, hiding his emotions. She looked back at the floor, confused.

"And why did you want to get his sentence overturned?"

"I believe the original sentence was too severe. Mr. Malfoy was a minor when he took the Mark and during the war. He has done some dreadful things, but he deserves a second chance, I very much believed that. And without a wand, without completing his education, he could never have that chance."

"Were you friends before this happened?"

"No, we were not."

"Then why would you bother?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to the woman in front of her.

"Several reasons. I owed him a life debt, as you now know, which of and by itself is reason enough. But I also believe that justice is for everyone, not just for the people we like. And while many Death Eaters are, indeed, thoroughly despicable people, I always knew that Draco was different. He was a child, and he served four years in Azkaban for the mistakes he made. That should be enough. Breaking his wand and exiling him from our society, leaving him to die of cold or hunger on the streets of Muggle London, that's just cruel. And it makes us no better than Death Eaters. That is not why I fought in a war."

Howell frowned.

"If that story of what happened during the Battle of Hogwarts is true, Miss Granger, why didn't you present this evidence at his previous trial?"

"It is true," Hermione snapped. "And it may be hard for you to understand, Ms. Howell, but everything that happened in that war, everything that happened during that battle - it was horrific and gruesome and it gave me nightmares every day for years. People like to forget that we were just children when we were forced to face and endure things even adults would run from. I couldn't speak of what happened then. It was so traumatic I couldn't speak of it for years." Hermione took a deep breath and smoothed her robes with trembling hands hands. Then she sent a cold smile at her opponent. "But you wouldn't know what it was like. You weren't there, after all."

Howell pursed her lips and turned back to her seat.

"No further questions."

The Court Scribe conferred quietly with Shacklebolt for a minute, then she addressed the Court again.

"Since Ms. Granger cannot cross-examine herself, she may make a statement to counter the Ministry's examination.

Hermione stood up, turned towards the Wizengamot and let her eyes dance over each face, lingering on those she suspected to be responsible for losing her job.

"As you may know, I am Muggleborn, and Draco and I were never friends when we grew up. He's been living at my flat for a few weeks now, and I can honestly say I have never seen him treat Muggles with anything but respect and civility. He navigates the Muggle world with ease, and never once propagated anything close to the Pureblood ideology he grew up with. He is curious about Muggles and Muggle appliances. You once convicted a boy for crimes he committed as if he were an adult and fully aware of all the consequences of his actions. You treated him as if he freely and willingly made the choice, as if he wasn't acting under duress, as if his failure to comply wouldn't have caused his parents' death. You wanted to regain public trust and show no mercy for Death Eaters, no matter their age and circumstances. But I didn't fight a war only to see more prejudice, more hate. I didn't endure torture only to see the victors become as ruthless as those we vanquished."

And with that, she took her seat next to Draco again. This time, he let her hold his hand.

* * *

Hermione Granger and Amanda Howell argued about the changes to Draco's sentence until the latter was blue in the face, and then some. Some of the older members of the Wizengamot were so captivated by the discussion they almost fell off their seats as they nodded off, and still Hermione didn't stop.

Draco was mesmerised by this wonderful, brilliant, feisty woman who was fighting for his rights. He would have given in to the Ministry as soon as they agreed to give him a wand, even if it was a controlled Ministry wand with limited spells, but she doggedly kept on negotiating. Her tactics were as dirty as the Ministry's and eventually Shacklebolt had to step in and take both women aside to formulate a compromise, which the Wizengamot promptly agreed to, browbeaten and hungry as they were. He walked away with permission to carry a wand again, the restitution of his personal vault, access to the Manor to retrieve personal belongings and a select list of heirlooms (only fourteen inches long), and the proud proprietor, once again, of Dragon's Den, the small Derbyshire estate his parents had given him for his eleventh birthday.

* * *

The Howell woman approached them after the Wizengamot had shuffled out of the courtroom, shook Draco's hand and then took Hermione aside for a quick chat. Draco scowled at their backs, unhappily reminded of why he'd left Hermione's flat in the first place.

"If you keep staring like that, you'll burn holes in their backs, you know."

"Very funny, Red."

Ginny Weasley - no, Potter - lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Draco felt his cheeks heat up. He hadn't meant to call her by that nickname to her face. He only relaxed when she chuckled.

"Seems like this went a lot better than you expected."

"Granger did a good job." His tone was dismissive, his face passive, and he hoped that the woman would leave him alone. His mind was still reeling from everything that had happened and he didn't feel like talking at all.

"Maybe you should remember you said that when you thank her later," she said, her cordial tone belying the hard glint in her eyes.

He looked up when Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley came to stand next to him.

"Just been out in the corridor, it's a madhouse. I think someone went out to warn the press during recess, it's just impossible to get through. We should take the back exit, we can leave those vultures for the Scribe."

"Wouldn't they disappear if Malfoy made a statement?"

Harry shrugged. "You know I prefer to avoid them if I can. But it's up to you, Malfoy."

Draco looked between Potter and his wife, and then his eyes darted back to Hermione, still deep in conversation with Amanda Howell.

"I'd rather not face the press."

"Let's go to my office, then. Hermione will find us there," Potter said, when Draco's eyes fixed on Hermione's back again.

They made their way through a side door, up several flights of stairs and then through the Auror department, where everyone stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of their unusual procession: Harry Potter chatting amiably with Draco Malfoy while Ronald Weasley walked behind them, twirling his wand in his hands and occasionally prodding it into Malfoy's back, followed by a blushing Ginny Potter who had accepted the arm Blaise Zabini had offered her, Arthur Weasley making up the rear. They filed into Harry Potter's office without a single word to anyone.

Draco was pushed into the chair in front of the desk, rather abruptly, and was about to complain, when Ginny Potter turned on him with a pointed glare, wand precariously close to his face.

"Not one word, Malfoy. You're going to listen to what I have to say. I don't care what happened between you and Hermione, but you're going to work things out. She was a complete mess when you left, Malfoy. After everything she did for you, she deserved better than that, you fucking asshole. So if you don't make it up to her, so help me, little Ferret, you won't get to enjoy your new-found freedom for very long. Do I make myself clear?"

Draco swallowed, leaning back from the angry redhead whose wand was now pointing squarely between his eyes.

"I asked if I made myself clear," she repeated slowly, closing in on him.

"Yes. Yes, crystal, couldn't be more clear."

When she stepped back and slid her wand in her pocket, he shook his head and glanced over at Potter, who was smirking at him from behind his desk.

"Merlin, Potter, now I _know_ I should've said condolences."

Potter laughed, while Red nestled herself on his lap with a questioning frown, and gave her a kiss on her nose.

"Nothing to worry about, love," he muttered.

Blaise clasped a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"I'm really glad you came, mate. Owl me when you get settled, yeah?"

Draco looked at his oldest friend for a long time, and their eyes said everything their voices did not.

"I'll get in touch." _Thank you for everything._

Blaise only nodded, and then, with a quick wave to the others in the room, he was gone, leaving Draco alone in a room full of Gryffindors. He felt about as comfortable as a snake in a nest of blast-ended skrewts, especially after Red's little shouting match.

Father Weasley came up to him then, pushing his glasses higher up his nose with a nervous smile.

"I know our families have never gotten along, but hope we can let bygones be bygones, Mr. Malfoy," he said, extending a hand. Draco was taken aback, and hesitated a little too long. Father Weasley's smile turned into a frown and his hand started dropping before he could bring himself to shake it.

"I'm… surprised. But grateful. I would gladly leave that feud in the past, where it belongs."

They shook hands firmly, and then the Elder Weasley went back to talk to his son on the other side of the room. Only then Draco realised he didn't quite remember the man's name.

Draco glanced around the room and then focused his eyes on his hands, avoiding everyone else's gaze. He wanted to leave, walk out of the Ministry and gather his thoughts before facing Hermione, and he shifted to get up, but a pointed glare from Weasley kept him in his seat.

He looked up when Hermione barged in, a big smile on her face and a skip in her step he'd never noticed before. She threw her arms around Weasley, and Draco looked down again, willing away the betrayal he had no right to feel.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"'Mione, need to breathe, please…"

"You found him! You brought him here! Oh Ron, you were brilliant."

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"Of course it does, you idiot."

Draco tuned out of the conversations around him, breathing slowly. He knew it wouldn't be long before she'd turn to him, and this time there wouldn't be anyone to save him from this conversation. He didn't notice everyone leaving and only snapped back to reality when Hermione pinched his arm. She was leaning against Potter's desk, and crossed her arms when she finally got his attention. They stared at each other in silence.

"Well…" Hermione said after a long pause.

Draco shifted in his seat and looked away from her. "Thank you for everything you've done. I really appreciate it. I know I was a right git at the end and you still came through, so thank you." He couldn't look at her while he said it, his cheeks burning and his fingers fiddling with the sleeves of the robe Weasley had forced him into that morning.

"Draco…"

He hated that her voice sounded so insecure, and he hated himself even more for caring.

"Draco, why did you leave?"

His head snapped up again, and his eyes narrowed as his mind went back to the conversation he'd overheard.

"Does it matter?"

She flinched at his harsh tone and her lips twitched into an unhappy frown.

"Ron said he found you in a hotel, how did you pay for it?"

Draco shrugged. "Blaise organised it. He promised not to tell."

"Would you have been here if Ron hadn't found you?"

His silence said enough, and she sighed.

"Why?"

He still didn't respond, and she stamped her foot in frustration.

"Draco, for Merlin's sake, talk to me. You just upped and left, for no reason at all. I was so worried about you! What the hell were you thinking? You wouldn't even have turned up here this morning if it hadn't been for Ron, and then what? Was I mistaken in thinking you wanted to get off the streets and get some sort of magical life back? Was it all just a game for you? You owe me an explanation, so hurry the fuck up and tell me why you disappeared!"

Draco looked at the angry witch in front of him, closed his eyes and tried to remain calm. Then he opened his eyes again, searching for the answer to a question he didn't really want to ask.

"Did you only do this to get a better job?"

She blinked rapidly. That was unexpected.

"No, Draco, of course not. How can you think that?"

"I heard you and Potter. He said your gamble with me would pay off, that you'd get a new job out of it."

Hermione shook her head.

"It's not… That wasn't… Look, do we have to do this here? Can't we go home first?" Her eyes were looking down at him pleadingly, but he couldn't just give in. He got up from his chair and paced around, running his hand through his hair. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon._

"Look, Hermione… I just… I can't come back with you if that is all I am to you, a step up the Ministry ladder. I can't do that to myself. I need to know there's more for us. I need to know you meant what you said back there, that it wasn't all just ploy to get the Wizengamot on your side, I…"

He was cut off in his rant by soft lips that were pressed against his mouth, and the tip of a tongue that teasingly stroked his bottom lip. He stiffened, his mind turning completely blank while those lips moved against his insistently. He was overwhelmed by sensations, her nose bumping into his, her hand on his shoulders and the back of his neck so he couldn't move away. She broke away just when he thought he might have gathered enough courage to respond, and looked up at him, smiling.

"You really are an idiot," she said, shaking her head. "I won't lie to you, Draco. It's true that I was hoping this might help me get a job with the DMLE, but that wasn't my main motivation. You ask me if I did this to get a better job, and I don't think that's the right question. What you should really be asking me, is if I'd have done this if there was no prospect of a career change."

Draco swallowed with difficulty. He could still feel the ghost of her lips on his, the press of her hand on his shoulders and neck.

"So? Would you?"

"Of course I would have. I did this for you, because I want you to have a chance at the life you deserve. And I did mean what I said. I want to see where this relationship goes. Please, come home with me?"

He couldn't refuse.

* * *

Draco woke early the next morning, and, for a moment, couldn't quite remember where he was. Then the previous day came back to him, bits and pieces and flashes of fear and happiness. When he moved, his hand bumped into his new wand and he knew it hadn't been a dream. He pushed himself up on one elbow and looked at the witch sprawled out next to him. She almost looked ethereal in the dusky morning light. His beautiful, courageous Hermione. He cast a tempus charm and saw it was nearly seven. Maybe he could try to surprise her with breakfast? It couldn't be that hard, especially now he had his wand back.

When he heard her stirring in the bedroom, he quickly scourgified the evidence of his first major foray into the kitchen. _Thank Merlin for magic._ Pancakes were more challenging than he'd imagined, but he had managed about five that looked decent enough. He placed everything on a tray and went back to her room.

Hermione woke up to the smell of burned food and soft curses coming from the other room. She stretched languidly and only then noticed that the other side of the bed was empty.

"Draco?"

"I'll be right there."

She saw the door open, and there he was: mussed hair, streaks of pancake batter on his shirt, and a tray with breakfast in his hands.

"Good morning. I wanted to surprise you."

"I didn't know you could cook."

"Neither did I."

She smiled at him, patting the space next to her and placed the tray on her knees as he settled carefully next to her.

"Thanks, Draco, this really is lovely." She licked her lips as she eyed the pancakes and fresh fruit and pumpkin juice he'd prepared for her.

He smirked as he took a strawberry and held it out for her.

"Don't get used to it, Granger. I'm still not your house elf."

* * *

 **AN: And that, dear readers, was that. Very special thanks to riddlesgurl86 for the prompt, which has kept me writing since January, to Ariel Riddle for cheering me on and creating the lovely artwork for this story (please do take a look at the book cover! It's gorgeous!). And thanks to all the reviewers who were there from the start. It's been an amazing journey, this first multi-chapter fic, and I couldn't have done it without your encouragements.**

 **Always happy to hear your thoughts so please review! And I'm off to my next project...**


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